


until I found your hands

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>essentially, a very loosely based maid in manhattan au. louis works at a hotel, avery's six and likes football, harry's an attractive pop star, zayn and niall try and keep him out of trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	until I found your hands

**Author's Note:**

> betsy. this fic would not be here with her constant encouraging and loving and beta-ing. this is for you. you practically wrote parts of it, and i owe you so much. you're perfect. i love you so much. so much.
> 
> greta and bella, for also reading through and encouraging me when i needed it. i love you both.
> 
> mady and cat, for being inspiration behind a few scenes without even realizing it. i love you two a lot.
> 
> if you read this, thank you so much. i hope you enjoy it!

“Avery.”

Louis is trying not to get impatient. 

“I can’t find my headphones!” comes the response.

He doesn’t even want to begin to try understand why his six year old son is rendered unable to do anything without his headphones, so instead Louis takes a step into the kitchen and pulls out the last two slices of bread from one of the cupboards. From there he takes the jar of peanut butter, spreading it as he hears Avery opening and closing his dresser drawers aggressively from the next room. 

Those were the last two slices of bread, which means he’s got to get more bread this weekend. Except the problem is, Louis realizes as he’s putting the sandwich into his son’s lunch pail, he doesn’t get paid until next weekend.

“Did you check your backpack?” Louis asks, trying to come up with ideas of where they could be.

It takes a moment for Avery to respond, though when he does it’s angry and frustrated, “they’re not in the pocket I always put them in,” is all he says, voice muffled by his bedroom door as Louis takes in a deep breath.

He begins his search by taking off couch cushions, though he’s mostly disappointed to find a fair amount of dust and crumbs, making a mental note to vacuum there more often. It’s not until he’s rummaging through his desk drawers does his phone go off from inside his pocket.

“Hello?” Louis answers.

There’s a pause, then, “do you ever check your phone?” It’s Zayn.

“Sorry,” Louis begins apologetically as he closes the second desk drawer. Still no headphones. “Been a little hectic this morning. What’s wrong?”

Mostly he’s surprised Zayn’s awake and speaking full sentences this early, considering he can barely function after ten in the morning when he usually wakes up. Maybe Louis should pretend to not be a morning person, then he wouldn’t get stuck with so many early shifts. “Nothing’s wrong, but if you actually read your texts you’d know why I’m calling,” Zayn tells him simply.

“Well are you going to lecture me or are you actually going to tell me so I can get on with my morning?” Louis asks as he sifts through a large pile of clothes on his bedroom floor.

Still nothing. Avery’s stomping about his room and Louis’ patience is wearing thin.

“Jesus, someone’s in a mood this morning,” Zayn tells him and before Louis can hang up on him he’s talking again, “there’s someone staying in the Madison Suite, that pop star Harry Styles, have you heard of him?”

Louis nearly laughs at that but refrains, shaking his head, though Zayn can’t see it anyway. “I’ve been a little too busy than to try and immerse myself into the world of pop stars, Zayn,” Louis says, now cradling his phone between his shoulder as he starts going through their junk drawer.

Desperate times, Louis thinks, as he nearly whimpers at the state of it. It’s like a never ending pit that somehow keeps accumulating useless stuff in it.

“I just thought maybe if you listened to the radio once in awhile you would’ve heard him, cause his songs are always fucking on. Catchy as hell, too.”

“I’m going to hang up on you,” Louis threatens.

“Alright, well, apparently, Harry Styles has booked the Madison Suite for the next four weeks because he’s recording in the city or something, I dunno, Niall told me all this yesterday and I was a bit drunk so I can’t really remember. But he’s requested to have his room cleaned twice a day, which is a bit ridiculous, but I suppose when you’re rich you can do that kind of thing. It’d be extra money and since you’re always complaining about having none, Niall and I signed you up.”

The junk drawer is hopeless, all he’s finding are old telephone books, abandoned sticky notes, an old stapler, and some Spider-Man band-aids. If anything, he could use those. 

“So I have no choice in the matter? Since you signed me up and all?” He doesn’t even know why he’s asking at this rate.

He can hear Zayn laugh quietly and can only imagine how comfortable he must be still wrapped up in his bed. Bastard. Louis hates him. “Not really, no. Hope that’s alright with you.”

“I suppose it’ll do,” Louis pauses briefly, brushing his fingertips along the edge of the desk, “thanks. For, y’know, looking out for me. And all that.”

“Oh my God, don’t get sentimental on me at this godforsaken hour, please. We can have that when I’m at the hotel and am actually awake.”

Louis smiles faintly but the moment fades when he hears something fall in Avery’s room. “I have to go, but I’ll see you later, yeah?” Louis tells him.

“Yeah, see you then,” Zayn mutters before hanging up.

Immediately he pockets his phone, rushing toward Avery’s door as he pushes it open, finding his son on his floor, fresh tears in his eyes and a broken snow globe on his floor. Louis immediately feels his face soften as he takes a step forward, bending down as he brushes some hair from his forehead.

“Are you hurt?” Louis asks softly as Avery shakes his head wordlessly, “let’s take one last look around the house, yeah?” 

There’s no response as he helps his son up carefully, wading him cautiously along his floor to avoid the shards of glass and into the kitchen. As Avery begins searching, though now slightly defeated, Louis begins to pick up the glass pieces from his floor as he glances to the time. 7:31. They should have been out the door five minutes ago.

Especially now with the added stress of the Madison Suite, Louis needs to find those headphones and he needs to find them _now_.

It’s not until he’s putting on his shoes a few moments later, reaching for his bag when he spots something on the coat rack. They’re yellow and they’re headphones, he realizes with a roll of his eyes.

“I found them, I found your headphones, now can we go before Daddy loses his mind?” Louis tells him and almost immediately Avery is at his side, shoes on and ready to go as he closes the door behind them.

They begin down the staircase toward the door as Louis takes his small hand into his own. “I need those. They’re the only way I can listen to Simon and Garfunkel,” Avery explains as Louis blinks.

“Simon and Garfunkel?” Louis echos, walking out onto the street and toward the subway entrance.

Since when does his six year old son listen to Simon and Garfunkel? Louis isn’t even sure he’s heard a single song by them. “Uncle Niall says they’re legends. He’s right,” he tells him, following Louis down into the subway station.

“Of course he did,” Louis mutters, shaking his head as he guides them onto the subway.

It’s the same faces and the same stuffy car, the same upholstered seats and the same everything, really. Avery’s beside him, moving his head to some beat Louis doesn’t know as the car begins to move. He coughs quietly into his hand, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest as he does so.

“Are you sick, Daddy?” Avery asks beside him, tugging on his sleeve.

“Not at all. Just a scratch in my throat,” Louis explains, motioning to his throat.

Avery’s brow furrows as he pauses, trying to understand. He takes a fingertip, briefly scratching at the skin of Louis’ neck and it tickles briefly before he pulls it away, a satisfied look on his face. “There. Scratched it.”

Louis kisses the top of his head, pulling him close. “My hero,” he says as he feels Avery giggle against him.

Three stops later and they’re out the door, up the stairs, walking the two blocks to Avery’s school. There are kids and families everywhere, cars lined up and down the street as Louis walks him to the front steps.

“Don’t go into your room until I’ve had a chance to clean up the glass, yeah?” Louis tells him as he straightens out the collar of his shirt when he realizes. His shirt is on backwards. For a moment he considers fixing it but he doesn’t have the time.

Avery pauses, briefly sad as Louis waits a moment. “Mom got that for me.”

Briefly, Louis wishes he had some sort of manual for this, some sort of response he could give. Mostly his heart does this weird sort of ache as he grips his son’s hand gently.

“I know, baby, but she can get you another one. She does every year,” Louis reminds him after a moment. “It doesn’t mean she loves you any less.”

Avery nods as Louis leans in to press a kiss to his forehead. However, he’s surprised to find he takes a step back before he can actually kiss him.

“ _Daaaaad_ ,” Avery whines and Louis pauses, glancing to see a group of girls at the top of the stairs, giggling and waving to his son. His son. His six year old son. Louis was not prepared for this.

“Right, well, didn’t know you were the cool kid now,” Louis says as he clears his throat, standing, as he straightens out his shirt.

He gives Avery one last wave, watching him walk up the stairs and join his friends as Louis stands there for a few moment. Well, alright, he wasn’t expecting that. Then again he was never really expecting his son to go out and meet girls, or boys, or anyone for that matter. Somewhere Louis had always thought he was going to stay a little boy forever. Apparently growing up doesn’t work like that. 

7:40. 

Louis starts back down the sidewalk, stopping briefly to pick up a coffee and pastry as he rummages through his bag until he finds what his keys. He passes the hotel entrance, waving to Mrs. Doyle who’s presently unloading her bags.

It’s a few steps more until he reaches a black door marked ‘Employee Entrance Only’, putting in his key and turning it as he opens the door, stepping inside. His donut is still warm, thank the Lord, as he pushes his way down the crowded hallway. It smells like bleach and laundry detergent.

“Just in time, yeah?” Darren calls out from his desk as Louis rounds a corner.

“I like cutting it close. Keeping you on your toes,” Louis says with a wink as he leans against the counter, looking toward the surveillance camera video’s streaming on multiple screens. “When are you going to give me your job then? It’s far more interesting than mine,” Louis whines.

The older man laughs quietly, shaking his head. “When I’m dead and gone you’re welcome to take my station, Lou, I’ve told you that.”

Louis shrugs. “Got anything good for me today?” he asks, taking another bite of his donut. Cherry filling. There is a God. 

“Not really, I’m sorry to say. Maybe by the time you get up there will be something to keep you entertained.”

“Probably not, I’m terribly difficult to keep entertained,” Louis tells him with a wave of his hand.

Darren laughs, Louis likes to tell himself fondly, watching him go. “Next time bring me one!” he calls out, referring of course to the still slightly warm donut Louis is holding in his hand.

“Maybe next time, darling!” Louis calls out before turning into the employee changing room.

There’s a few people when he gets in there, reaching his locker as he pulls his uniform out of his bag. It’s hideous, but after working here for six years, he’s grown accustomed to it, he supposes. He listens to the usual gossip going around the locker room that morning: Laney from the kitchen is threatening to quit again if she doesn’t get more hours, Greg’s going on vacation, and Perrie is interviewing more people this week for her position as Assistant Manager when she leaves. The same old things, Louis thinks to himself. 

If he’s going to work somewhere the gossip should, if anything, be good. Especially when it’s a high end hotel.

He tosses his empty coffee cup and donut bag into the trash before leaving the locker room, making his way toward the lobby. The morning rush is happening, people coming to check out as he makes a beeline for the front desk.

“Morning, angel of mine,” Louis says, leaning against the countertop.

“You’ve got something on your face. Your mouth, more specifically,” Niall replies, not even looking up from his computer screen as Louis scoffs, wiping furiously as his mouth. “Left corner.”

He wipes it away. “I need the key to the Madison Suite, since you and Zayn so kindly signed me up for it,” Louis informs him, perhaps a bit too demanding as he extends his hand.

Niall fishes around briefly before handing it over, the words _Madison Suite_ in a loopy cursive across it. “Don’t fuck this up,” is all he says as Louis grins, smacking an obnoxiously loud kiss to his cheek.

“When have I ever?” 

He doesn’t give Niall a chance to respond before making his way toward one of the cleaning closets, taking a cleaning cart as he pushes it toward the elevator. Cleaning closet, cleaning cart, it’s a bit redundant, Louis thinks as he pushes the ninth floor button.

It’s quiet when he gets there, thankfully, as he stops the cart in front of room 916. He knocks on the door, waiting a few moments before sliding his key in when there’s no response. The door opens easily as Louis begins with the first and necessary items: clean blankets and towels. 

This takes a few minutes, mostly because bed sheets are an absolute bitch to put on, especially when doing them alone. So after a bit of struggling and cursing he gets them on, tight and tucked in as he pulls out a stack of white towels, beginning to hang them up in the bathroom. 

From there he reads a paper for more of Harry Styles’ requests and, Jesus, there’s a fair bit, Louis realizes as he looks to the time. 8:14. He’s got sixteen minutes till the hotel staff meeting. 

There’s a request for lavender and orchid scents, claiming they help ‘soothe his voice’, whatever that means. Louis does as he’s requested, putting out soaps and other lavender scents in the bathroom. He dusts along the surfaces of the room, wiping and cleaning the windows as he throws the old bed sheets into the laundry bin.

By the time he rolls the cart into the cleaning closet and makes his way into the cramped staff room it’s 8:29 when he goes to stand beside Niall.

“Glad you could join us, Mr. Tomlinson,” Perrie says from her clipboard as Louis nods.

“Glad to be here,” he tells her, ignoring the look Niall gives him.

The staff meetings always go the same. The same announcements, the same guests and the same requests from them, the same suites, all of it’s the same. Which is why he always makes a point of standing beside Niall, because he’s the only one who will mock with him throughout it. Though there was that one week Niall was sick and Louis had nearly died because trying to discuss Mr. Timothy’s obsession with hanging his boxers outside his room to dry after he’s washed them is apparently not a topic of conversation Ben from maintenence wants to discuss. Especially with Louis.

Of course being Head Chef means Zayn doesn’t have to attend these God awful meetings and Louis will always be hideously jealous of him for that. 

Perrie informs them that Greg James, the hotel owner, is going on vacation for the next few weeks and Louis notices people seem to be rather stressed by that. Which is ridiculous, Louis thinks, because Greg has gone on vacation before and the building hadn’t burned down.

“However for the next few weeks we’ve got a very special guest staying with us. Harry Styles will be with us for four weeks while he’s recording in the city, staying with us instead of his usual Four Seasons hotel. So we must all be on our best behaviour and make him feel as at home as possible,” Perrie begins before looking pointedly at Louis, “While he’s here his room will under the care of Louis. I can trust you, Louis, can’t I?”

“His room will be well taken care of, I can assure you,” he tells her, ignoring the jealous glares from Gladis and Mary from across the room. They’ve never liked him anyway, so whatever. It doesn’t matter.

“Perfect, now onto the issue of the dishwasher in the kitchen not working...” Perrie drones off as Louis feels an elbow in his side.

“Do you even listen to his music?” Niall questions.

“Can’t say I have,” Louis responds, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’d like him. I can make you a mix, if you’d like. He’s all pop and guitar and soulful lyrics, just the kind of shit you like,” Niall offers and can they not make fun of his music taste for one fucking day? God.

“I’d love that,” Louis tells him sarcastically, “why don’t you go on and add some Simon and Garfunkel while you’re at it?”

Niall shakes his head. “You wouldn’t like them,” he says, “they’re actually _good_.”

Louis elbows his side and that seems to shut Niall up effectively until they have another topic to mock mercilessly.

\--

“Be honest.”

They’re on their lunch break in the kitchens. Zayn’s hovering over them, putting two bowls of his new attempt at a pasta salad as Louis looks at it briefly. He and Niall exchange a wordless glance before picking up their forks and taking a bite.

Louis hates when Zayn’s like this. All anxious and worried, waiting for their every reaction and quite honestly, it’s just food, so it’s not he and Niall are much help anyway. Half the time Niall will eat just about anything and Louis is too picky so they’re quite possibly the two worst best friends and taste testers a Head Chef could have.

However he takes a bite regardless. It’s fucking spicy, Louis thinks at first. Apparently Niall is in the same boat, sipping at his water as Zayn braces himself against the counter.

“You’re not saying anything,” he comments.

“Because we’re still chewing, Jesus,” Louis tells him through his mouthful, taking a sip of his own water now.

He thinks his mouth might possibly be on fire.

“S’fucking spicy, mate,” Niall comments, nearly finished his water.

Zayn doesn’t seem satisfied by this, motioning with his hand for them to keep talking as Louis takes another bite.

“Are there -” Louis begins before taking a small sip of his water, “fucking olives in here?”

Zayn pauses. “Shit, right, yeah, I forgot you hate them.”

Louis glares at him briefly but doesn’t dwell on it, instead beginning to pick them out immediately and putting them straight into Niall’s bowl. 

“Keep your food to yourself!” Niall cries but Louis shakes his head.

There’s a groan across from them and Zayn is a picture of a broken man, head on the counter and Louis is sure he’s never seen him look so defeated. “Oh my God, you guys hate it. Just tell me. Just say it,” he says, voice muffled by the countertop.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Louis responds, flicking what he assumes to be a chick pea at him, watching it bounce off his shoulder.

Niall nods and Zayn finally lifts his head, putting his chin on the palm of his hands as he looks between them. Louis sighs, taking another bite as he takes his and Niall’s glasses, filling them up with water before setting them back down in front of the two of them once more.

“You don’t usually make spicy food,” Niall comments finally, “why suddenly now?”

Louis nods in agreement as Zayn sighs.

“Apparently Harry Styles likes spicy food. So Greg wanted me to try my hand at that,” Zayn explains.

Ah yes, Harry Styles, of course, Louis thinks. “You decided that burning his mouth off was a good option for that?” he asks as Niall snorts from beside him.

“What you’re saying is it’s a bit too spicy then?” Zayn says.

“Yes. Aside from that it’s good,” Louis encourages.

And for the most part, he seems to believe them, especially considering Niall finished his entire bowl and whatever was left of Louis’. Next he gives them a spicy lemon chicken dish which, again, is too spicy, but still good. The last is a chocolate chili ice cream and that, surprisingly, Louis likes. 

He even gets a second bowl, thanks to a bit of whining to Zayn who eventually gives him another scoop just to shut him up. 

“Can you be in love with ice cream?” he asks sincerely as Niall laughs.

“Shut up, Jesus,” Zayn says as Louis grins. 

“I was just asking,” Louis defends, licking along his spoon before asking, “is he even any good?”

“Who?” Niall asks.

“Harry Styles.”

Niall and Zayn both laugh as Louis chooses to ignore that. “He’s won two Grammys already so yeah, he’s a bit more than good I’d say,” Zayn tells him.

“A Grammy says nothing,” Louis replies, standing beside Zayn who’s at the stove, cooking more peppers and telling one his workers to get some chicken from the freezers.

“Well look who’s suddenly a music expert?” he teases as Niall smirks, Louis knocking his hip against Zayn’s.

The rest of their lunch is filled with a brief discussion of Harry Styles, then onto a bit more gossip from Niall’s end. According to him, Mr. Marman had been locked of his room this morning when he’d gone to get paper, apparently claiming his wife had shoved him out the door and locked it behind him. Which would be fine and good, save for the fact that he was completely naked standing in the hallway, pounding on the door and his wife refusing to let him in. Eventually he was given a robe and it was later revealed in the lobby that Mrs. Marman had read Mr. Marman’s phone and read some apparent ‘sexy texts’ from his receptionist while he was in the shower, hence his being locked out when he’d gone to get the paper. 

Louis wraps an arm around Niall’s shoulders, pulling him close. “I love that you’re our lobby man, y’know that? Always keep us up to date on the gossip,” he tells him.

“That’s upsetting because that means we’re stuck with Mrs. Marman,” Zayn comments.

“What do you mean? Mrs. Marman might be insufferable, but she tips far better,” Louis points out.

Zayn shrugs. “I suppose so,” he agrees. 

Louis finishes washing their dishes, since the dishwasher is _still_ broken, setting them onto the drying rack. A five star hotel and they can’t get their only dishwasher to stay working for more than two weeks without breaking down. Inspiring.

“Wonderful as always, Zayn darling,” Louis tells him, putting the slightly damp drying cloth around his neck.

“Yeah, yeah, go do work or something,” he replies, briefly bumping into Louis before turning back to the stovetop.

They exit the kitchens, Niall walking back toward the front desk as Louis makes his way down the hallway, checking his list of rooms to clean. He’s still got to do another six, including Harry Styles’ for a second time, though Louis isn’t even sure he’s here so the idea of cleaning it a second time seems ridiculous. 

Regardless, he’s still got to do it.

So he grabs another cart, pulling it down the hallway and into the elevator. He’s going to be making this same trip twice a day. Just the mere idea of doing this two times a day makes Louis feel tired, coughing into his elbow as he presses the nine button. His chest aches but he ignores it. It’s nothing. Just a cough. He can’t afford to get sick right now anyway, so he won’t even let himself think about it. 

He knocks on the door, greeted with no response as he pushes it open. There’s a suitcase on one of the bed, Louis notes. That means someone’s here. Or they’ve been here, he thinks as he looks to the beds. They’re mostly untouched, save for a bit of a dip on one side of the bed nearest to the window. 

Usually when they clean rooms the guests are checked out and he doesn’t have anyone to worry about. However, when he’s bending down to retrieve the window cleaning solution from the cart is when he hears the bathroom door beginning to open and Louis most certainly did not sign up for this.

Louis hasn’t a clue as to what Harry Styles looks like until the door opens and reveals a very tall, rather fit, slender dark haired man with just a towel wrapped around his waist. A small towel, Louis thinks briefly as he blinks. A hand towel. Apparently the famed pop star likes to wrap himself in as little coverage as possible.

“Oh my God -” Louis blurts out and immediately the other boy freezes in the doorway. For a moment Louis forgets that he’s crouching awkwardly behind a cleaning cart and barely visible.

“Fuck, Jesus, I’m -” Harry begins but Louis doesn’t want to prolong this moment any more than necessary.

He begins pushing the cart from the room, closing the door behind himself as he pushes off down the hallway, breathing heavily as he reaches the elevators. He presses the button but the doors stay closed and _now is not the time_ he thinks, pressing it aggressively a second and third time before there’s finally a small ding. 

There’s a voice calling from down the hallway but Louis doesn’t let himself listen as he closes the elevator door and tries to regulate his breathing. 

Well, Louis thinks as he slumps against the wall of elevator, at least he was wearing a towel.

\--

“Oh my God.”

“Surely your vocabulary is more than three words,” Louis says.

“You saw Harry Styles naked.” Not quite the response he was hoping for.

“He was wearing a towel, Niall, how many times do I have to tell you?” 

They’re at the front desk, five minutes away from punching out for the day as Louis relays the whole terrible towel incident to Niall, who isn’t taking it well. So far all he’s managed to say in the past twenty minute is _oh my God_ , and _oh my fucking God_ , which doesn’t tell him anything except that Niall might be having a minor heart attack. 

“You’re sure it was him?” Niall finally speaks, face buried in his hands.

“I don’t really know, it was hard to see past the cleaning cart and all,” Louis replies with a small shrug.

“Jesus,” Niall mutters, “you’re lucky he’s not suing, or something.”

“He’s the one who requested a cleaner two times a day,” Louis argues.

“You’re being shockingly cavalier about all this,” Niall says as Louis rolls his eyes, albeit fondly, in response. 

Niall is taking this a lot worse than Louis is, and he wasn’t even there, Louis thinks. When the clock hits four they make their way into the back room, taking out their time cards as they gather their things from the locker rooms. They say a quick goodbye to Zayn, who’s looking rather annoyed at whatever he’s making, giving them a pathetic wave as they go. 

“See you tomorrow?” Niall asks as he makes his way toward the staff parking lot.

“Yeah, you still good for Friday?” Louis stops at the edge of the parking lot, Niall nodding as he reaches his car.

“Same time?” Louis nods. “I’ll be there.”

“How long’s the class?” he asks, tossing his bag into the back seat.

“Three hours,” Louis replies, frowning. Niall laughs quietly.

“Glad it’s not me,” Niall says with a wink. Louis rolls his eyes, ignoring the way he drives off.

Louis giving him one last wave as he heads down the sidewalk. It’s the usual route to the subway, busy and cluttered with people as he tries to move past them. The subway is crowded and Louis has to hold onto one of those odd loops hanging from the ceiling, making space for a man with a bicycle as he pushes through the doors when they open.

His stop comes the usual three later, Louis stepping off onto the platform and he makes his way up the stairs.

A part of him always worries that he’ll have missed his ride home with Mrs. Clark, who lives three doors down; her daughter Janine in the same grade as Avery. He takes the few flights of stairs to the second floor, stopping in front of room 21B, the familiar ‘Home is Where the Heart Is’ crocheted sign hanging from it.

“Louis, good to see you,” Mrs. Clark tells him with a small smile, opening the door a few moments later.

He nods, returning the smile. “You as well. How are the kids?” he asks. It’s always the same questions. How are the kids, how’s Mr. Clark, etc. 

“Oh fine, you know. I’ll go get Avery,” she tells him with a small smile and before Louis can say anything else he hears familiar footsteps rushing toward him.

“Mrs. Clark is making spaghetti and garlic bread,” Avery informs him as he slips on his shoes.

Louis snorts. “Would you rather live with Mrs. Clark then?”

Avery shrugs, putting on his backpack as Louis laughs quietly, the two of them walking the few steps to their flat. He unlocks the door, hanging up his coat as he watches his son toss his bag onto the floor. 

“What did I say about leaving your bag in the middle of the hallway?” Louis asks as Avery turns, pouting and sighing dramatically. “I still need to vacuum your room,” he adds, opening the hall closet. Avery makes his way into the living room area.

“How was school?” Louis asks.

Immediately Avery sets off into a story about how in music they got to pick their instruments and he got drums, he states proudly. Louis nods, listening. He vacuums quickly, making sure there’s no bits of glass hidden in the carpet of his room before turning it up, beginning to pack it all up.

“My teacher’s really cool, too; Mr. Devine. Says I’m a natural at the drums,” Avery tells him as Louis feels his smile widen.

“Well, you are a Tomlinson after all. We are very musical,” Louis says as Avery giggles.

“All you do is sing in the shower,” he replies.

“And I do it rather well, thank you,” Louis teases as he pokes his stomach gently.

He puts the vacuum away, closing the closet door as Avery asks him for help with his math homework, which continues on right into when Louis makes them dinner. Pasta and sauce from a can, all he can seem to scrounge up from their shelves as he puts them onto plates. Zayn wouldn’t approve, claims that if it comes from a can it isn’t real or edible, but it’s all Louis can seem to afford these days. But Avery doesn’t seem to mind, talking away as Louis eats from across the table.

They watch an old rerun of The X Factor together, Avery drifting off to sleep in his arms. Louis waits until the credits to wake him, nudging him awake by pressing a kiss to his temple. It’s warm, soft and smells like sleep as he watches Avery’s small eyes flutter open.

They’re blue, and they always seem to surprise him whenever he looks at them.

Avery rubs his eyes with the back of his hands, muttering something tiredly as Louis carefully puts him on his feet.

“Why don’t you go change into your pajamas and I’ll get your toothbrush ready,” Louis suggests as he hears Avery’s small feet shuffle into his room without protest.

He comes back changed, save for his shirt which is on backwards, though Louis decides not to comment on it. Instead he nudges Avery’s small stool toward the counter as he steps onto it, brushing his teeth as Louis follows suit. He knows some day they won’t fit at their tiny excuse for a sink but as for right now, he likes it. 

“Do you think I can get my own?” Avery asks him, putting his toothbrush into the cup holder as Louis’ brows furrow.

“Get what?” he asks, pulling down a small towel as he wipes a bit of toothpaste drool from his son’s chin.

Avery rolls his eyes, as if somehow Louis was supposed to have read his mind and know what he’s trying to say. “My own drum set,” he says.

Louis’ heart does the same sort of ache reminisce of this morning, though it’s for a different reason entirely. It’s mostly because he knows they won’t be able to afford a drum kit for a long, long while. Not at the salary he’s getting and the rent he’s paying each month.

“Maybe, baby, we’ll see,” Louis says gently, “now get off to bed will ya?”

Avery doesn’t seem to notice the sad sort of smile on his lips as he makes his way down the hallway, climbing up into his bed as Louis sits down on the edge of it. He brings the blankets up to Avery’s chin, just how he always likes it, wrapped tight and with precision. 

“I put my headphones in my bag, so I won’t lose them,” Avery says quietly as Louis turns on his light above his bed. 

“Very smart of you,” Louis says gently, leaning down to kiss his forehead, “I love you.”

It’s quiet, Avery bringing his hand to Louis’ face, tracing along his nose and cheeks. Something he’s done since he was a baby.

“Love you too, daddy,” comes his quiet voice.

He’s asleep by the time Louis closes the door.

\--

The next morning goes a little more smoothly and Avery gets to school with headphones in tow, bouncing up the steps as he gives Louis a final wave. He doesn’t let Louis kiss his forehead again. Louis tells himself it’s because he’s getting older and he should be okay with it.

He makes it to work on time, leaving a blueberry donut on Darren’s desk on his way to the locker rooms. He gets his own blueberry donut, which is perhaps a bit of a letdown compared to the cherry heaven he’d experienced yesterday, but he’ll take what he can get.

When he arrives at Harry Styles’ room he finds it empty, thankfully. The bathroom door is open and there’s no one around, he notes, before cleaning the room. It’s a bit of a disaster, truthfully. Regardless he’s in and out there like he would for any other room, and he’s thankful there’s no more towel fiascos in the meantime. 

He’s about to take his first break with a warm croissant and coffee from Zayn (bless his heart, honestly, Louis is pretty sure he’s an angel in disguise) when he hears a familiar voice from down the hall.

“Louis!” It’s Greg James, he realizes. Greg James the hotel owner and the reason why Louis is employed in the first place.

He tries to ignore the feeling of his stomach sinking the closer he gets. Oh God, Louis thinks as he takes a sip of his coffee, Greg’s come to fire him for seeing Harry Styles in a towel. Of all the reasons for being fired, this was certainly not the one Louis was hoping for.

Immediately Louis starts thinking of excuses, making a list in his head as he mentally prepares himself.

“Glad I caught you,” Greg begins with his usual charming smile and Louis is pretty sure he’s going to be sick, the half croissant he’d eaten no longer sitting well in his stomach. “I have a question to ask you.”

Louis opens his mouth to defend himself, to say something until -

“What do you know about treadmills?”

Louis promptly shuts his mouth. He wasn’t expecting that. He briefly wonders if Greg is meaning to use a treadmill as a source of punishment before firing him. How he would use it as a source of punishment Louis doesn’t know, but he’s sure Greg could think of something.

He swallows. “Not much, to be honest,” Louis admits.

Greg makes a small clicking sound with his tongue, as if he was expecting that response. Louis shifts his weight, unsure of what to do with himself now. “Right, well, I have a sort of big favour to ask of you.”

Louis thinks if he was going to confront him about the whole towel incident he would’ve done it by now. “Involving treadmills?” he asks.

“Yes, involving treadmills. See, we’re a bit tight staffed right now and I’ve got to get out the door and on my way to catch my plane because I was supposed to leave ten minutes ago, and yet here I am, so you can see why I’m so stressed.” Louis doesn’t see but Greg continues regardless, “Anyway, I’m a bit short staffed right now on maintenance men and women. Pam is on vacation until next week, Dwayne and Phoebe are fixing a pipe burst in suite 217 and Ben is trying to fix the dishwasher and Fiona called in sick. So, that leaves you,” Greg finishes.

Louis blinks. “Me?” He isn’t seeing how this all adds up to him.

“You told me once your dad showed you how to fix cars when you were little?” Greg asks.

“Well, sort of,” Louis begins awkwardly. It was one time, one Saturday morning before he’d left him and his mother for good. He leaves out that detail, instead saying, “but I think treadmills and cars are on a completely different spectrum.”

Greg repeats the clicking sound, seemingly racking his brain before shaking his head. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I just, I need you try fixing one of the treadmills that’s broken down in the gym.”

Of all the ways Louis saw his morning going, this was certainly not one of them. “You want me to try and fix it?” he echos, mostly in disbelief.

“I would adore you for it, truly,” Greg begins as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, plastic key. His key. His key, as hotel owner, Louis notes with a fair bit of panic, “use this to get in and play around with it for an hour, that’s all I ask. Just an hour.” 

He’s practically begging now and Louis can’t exactly say no to that, now can he? He’s sure if he did Greg would get down on one knee and repeatedly ask him until he said yes.

“I can’t - take, that,” Louis says dumbly, motioning to the plastic card Greg’s extending toward him.

“Nonsense, Louis, it’s fine. I trust you.” 

He chews the inside of his cheek briefly, taking in a deep breath. He’s going to regret this. He’s going to regret this and there’s no getting out of it now. “Alright, yeah, I’ll do it,” Louis tells him as he takes his card.

“Excellent! I knew I could count on you. Now just go for an hour and if you can’t fix it one of the maintenance men will do the best they can. When you’re done just give the card back to the front desk and they’ll hold onto it for me until I get back,” Greg explains, practically beaming as Louis forces a small smile.

“Right, perfect. I’ll give it back to the front desk,” Louis says but Greg’s already beginning toward the door. “Have a good vacation!” he calls and before he can do anything else Greg’s gone and he’s left holding his key.

Well, fuck, okay then. He’s got to fix a treadmill. 

He’s only been in the gym once, and that was with Niall in an attempt to get Louis to exercise more. Though all that had really happened was Louis had bet him five dollars Niall couldn’t bench press him and he had lost five dollars. From there they’d gone to pester Zayn in the kitchen for food and since then he’s never actually gone back inside of it. 

If anything, he’ll be learning more about the hotel and all the amenities it has to offer. Which is bullshit, but it’s all Louis has to go on.

He dials a number on his phone, hitting the call button as he waits a few moments. “Stateside Luxury Hotel, Niall Horan speaking, how many I assist you?”

“Do you know anything about treadmills?”

“Louis?”

“Yes, it’s Louis, who else would call you from the gym asking about how to fix a treadmill?” he says as he takes a step inside, immediately regretting it when he does.

It smells mostly of sweat and Louis already feels dizzy. There’s a few people scattered throughout, on machines and doing God knows what to their bodies, Louis thinks as he looks around for something resembling a broken treadmill. It doesn’t take long. Mostly because it’s the only one wrapped in electric yellow CAUTION! tape. Subtle, Louis thinks, holding his phone up to his ear.

“Why are you in the gym? How did you even find it?” Niall questions.

“I don’t have time for your banter right now,” Louis informs him as he begins to peel off the tape, “I need you to Google how to fix a treadmill.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Of course the one relevant question he could have asked Greg he hadn’t. “I’m assuming it’s not working.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Niall responds.

“Just Google it, yeah?”

“Fine. But you owe me,” he says before hanging up, leaving Louis kneeling in front a treadmill and wondering just what he’s gotten himself into.

The first thing he looks for is a manual of some kind. After a bit of searching he finds it wedged underneath the seat, large and bulky as he sets it down in front of himself. If anything, reading it will make it look like he’s doing something for the entire hour he’s stuck here. There’s a small toolbox to his left as he begins going through the manual, checking the areas that he can.

After a bit reading he finds that the display works, it lights up and the buttons all respond when he presses them, which means it’s nothing to do with that. 

It’s the belt, Louis learns a little while later. It’s jammed and won’t allow the treadmill to run properly. So all he’s got to do is unjam it, which sounds easy enough.

Except it’s not.

Because he doesn’t have the time or energy to take apart the entire treadmill Louis presently has his head near the belt, tugging at it uselessly in hopes that it will become magically unjammed. It doesn’t happen. However he does manage to hit his head rather hard against the neck of the treadmill as he curses quietly, wincing at the throbbing pain beginning to pound in his head.

“Are you - alright?”

The voice sounds weirdly familiar, Louis thinks as he looks up and well. It’s because it’s the same legs he saw just under twenty-four hours ago, though now they’re accompanied by a disturbingly bright pair of neon runners. Those are a bit of a... surprise.

“Yeah, m’fine,” Louis says, mostly trying to convince himself now as he forces a small, weird sort of laugh. Mostly it comes out strangled and high pitched.

Harry doesn’t seem convinced as he looks to Louis, watching him stand. “You hit your head pretty hard there,” they say, voice low and words drawn out, slow and deliberate. Louis likes that.

“All in a day’s work, y’know,” he says, waving his hand and ignoring the light headed feeling he gets as he stands up straight.

“What’s your name then?”

Louis scoffs. “Louis. Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry (though Louis might perhaps take it upon himself to nickname him ‘brown haired beauty’) pauses, face scrunching up in a mixture of amusement and worry. “Are you sure about that? Greg James?”

For a moment Louis feels his cheeks blush as he sees Harry’s eyes fixated on his waist, as if he’s checking him out shamelessly in front of the entire number of people in the gym to see. However the moment passes when Louis notices he’s actually reading the plastic card hanging from his hip.

Well, it was a good thought while it lasted.

“I, um, right,” Louis stutters, not sure how to correct him now. He’s blaming the bump on his head for that. And brown haired boy’s green eyes. Green, green, terribly green eyes.

“Greg James, Hotel Owner,” they continue, the same drawl for each word and Jesus fuck it’s making Louis’ head spin, “do hotel owners usually fix treadmills?”

Louis laughs, nervously. “Only when they’re behind on maintenance men,” he replies, “I should know your name then, since you found out mine so easily.” He’s so smooth. The least he can do is credit himself for that.

“Harry Styles,” he says, extending a hand as Louis shakes it briefly.

It’s a little surreal, standing in the middle of the gym, talking to the famed two time Grammy-winning Harry Styles. But he doesn’t really like a Grammy winner, Louis thinks, he looks like a young adult, much like himself. However a part of that could be due to the fact that Louis has seen him in nothing more than a small towel wrapped around his waist prior to this moment.

Though, if he’d had known just how incredibly fucking gorgeous he was he would’ve had incentive to listen to his music ages ago.

“Do you need ice or anything?” Harry adds as Louis shakes his head.

“No, no, I’m fine,” he says as his phone starts buzzing from a few feet beside him.

It’s a call from Niall. He ignores it.

Harry still doesn’t seem convinced, though he doesn’t comment on it, rocking back and forth on the balls of his heels, something Avery does when he’s getting impatient. 

“I should um, get going, you know, hotel business, all that,” Louis says finally. Hotel business. Only people who aren’t actually hotel owners say that, for God’s sake.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Harry tells him with a small smile. 

“Right, of course, since we’re at the same hotel and all,” Louis finishes as he pushes open the door, nearly tripping through it as he checks his phone once more.

Three missed calls and a text from Niall: _Did the treadmill eat yah ? Where the hell are yah?_

Louis glances back briefly, finding Harry as he climbs onto a treadmill and Louis is. Going to be sick. He’s most definitely going to be sick.

\--

An hour later he’s sitting in the middle of the kitchen, a bag of pea’s on the back of his head and Zayn and Niall staring at him in disbelief. The bag of peas is perhaps the most uncomfortable bit, Louis thinks as he shifts on the stool top. 

No, he decides, realizing that both Zayn and Niall are still staring at him. That’s far more uncomfortable. 

“Can one of you say something?” Louis finally breaks the silence.

Zayn’s cutting lettuce, setting down the knife as he presses his lips together into a thin line. Niall’s leaning against the counter and it almost feels like he’s being interrogated, though with the way his head his pounding he’s suffered enough for one day, Louis thinks.

“You told Harry Styles that you’re Greg James.” Zayn says finally.

Louis pauses briefly, leaning his elbows against the tiled countertop. “Yes,” he confirms with a nod of his head as Zayn takes a red pepper from the pile of vegetables next to him.

“So now he thinks you’re the hotel owner?” Zayn asks.

“Yes, as I told you five minutes ago,” he responds, sighing loudly at the end for hopeful dramatic effect. It doesn’t work.

“You also didn’t fix the treadmill. Took Ben almost two hours to get it working after you apparently ‘made it ten thousand times worse’,” Niall adds as Louis sighs once more.

It’s a little ridiculous that his life has somehow ended up here. With a bag of frozen peas to his head and telling his two best friends that he’s told the biggest lie of his entire life to a two time Grammy winning singer Harry Styles. Ridiculous and also a real problem he now has to deal with. 

And the worst part is, Louis would do it all over again. Because Louis was completely terribly transfixed with the way Harry’s lips moved, how low his voice was, the possible idea of someday giving him a blowjob on a treadmill. If that would even work, he hasn’t quite figured out the science of it quite yet.

Regardless, it’s still something he wouldn’t mind trying.

He doesn’t say this, doesn’t dare with the way Zayn is glaring at him from where he’s still cutting vegetables. He’s moved onto celery, Louis notes.

“Okay, so, I should’ve, handled it better. Y’know. Explained the whole thing to him, instead of lying,” Louis begins, “but it was. A bit difficult to do that. There was a lot going on.”

“Like people working out?” Zayn asks as Niall takes a piece of pepper, popping it into his mouth.

“Yes. I don’t know, God, I was ambushed,” Louis says as he rubs his face tiredly with his free hand.

“You were ambushed. Right.” Niall responds, deadpan, as Zayn snorts across from them.

“He was wearing a tank top, what the hell was I supposed to do?” Louis explains, soliciting a second snort from Zayn as he does so.

“Are you going to keep snorting or actually add something useful to the conversation?” Louis snaps as Zayn looks up at him.

“I’ll stop snorting when you stop lying to international pop sensations,” he says simply and well, fine, fuck him.

He should have the conversation going this way, honestly, because it’s what he needs to hear. That doesn’t mean he wants to hear it, however. 

His head hurts.

“What am I supposed to tell him?” Niall asks after a moment.

Louis pauses, brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Niall rolls his eyes. “When he asks where you are,” he clarifies and now it’s Louis’ turn to snort in response because that idea is ridiculous. 

Then again, maybe not, considering Harry now thinks he’s the hotel owner. 

“Y’know, that I’m on vacation. Because, technically, I am,” Louis replies as Niall sighs tiredly into his hands.

They’re quiet for another moment and Louis wonders just how much effort it would be to crawl into the oven and end all his problems completely. It’s big enough. Or, mostly big enough, anyway. Could work.

Zayn opens his mouth to continue lecturing him as Louis checks the time, slipping off the stool as he sets the bags of now half thawed bag of pea’s onto the countertop.

“Where are you going?” Niall asks as Louis makes his way toward the door.

“Wednesday, gotta pick Avery up from school,” Louis explains. Mrs. Clark works late, so it’s his day to get Lane and Avery.

“We’re not finished this conversation,” Zayn tells him as Louis shrugs.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll just, y’know, avoid him and all that,” Louis says though neither of them look convinced.

\--

He’s making dinner, Lane and Avery doing their homework at the kitchen table as Louis glances to his closed computer. A part of him wants to open it and google his name, just his name, and see what he can find out.

Then another part of him knows that’s a terrible idea because then he’ll get attached because he’s most likely wonderful and adorable and everything Louis has been hoping for in a potential soulmate. So he doesn’t. Instead, he continues to cook the grilled cheese sandwiches in the pan with the bread Zayn had given him this morning.

With the amount of food Zayn’s given him Louis is almost certain he owes him a fortune.

He doesn’t think about that, instead, sliding them onto some plates as he sets them in front of the two kids. He doesn’t lecture Avery about the disgusting amount of ketchup he pours on the side of his plate, though that’s because his head is still pounding from this morning.

“So what instrument do you play, Lane?” Louis asks as he sits down at the other empty chair at the table.

“Flute. Mr. Devine says it’s a regal instrument,” Lane tells him with a proud smile as Avery scoffs from across the table.

Louis gives him a look briefly before taking a bite of his own sandwich. He needs to expand his cooking, because at this rate all he has to show for himself is pasta with sauce from a can and grilled cheese. Also french toast.

“Ah, of course,” he says, taking another bite, chewing for a few moments. “I used to play clarinet.”

“No one likes the clarinet,” Lane informs him as Louis blinks. Well, then.

Dinner goes by quickly, Mrs. Clark coming half an hour later to pick her up and thanks him as she always does. It’s another two hours before Louis gets Avery ready for bed, despite his protests as he tucks him in once more. And when he’s sure he’s asleep, Louis makes his way into the living room, hands on his hips as he looks at his still closed computer.

One search wouldn’t hurt. So he opens it, turning it on as he sits onto the couch, setting it on his lap. 

He opens a web browser, going to a search engine as he types in his name: Harry Styles. Immediately there’s a terrible amount of results, flooding the page as Louis pauses, fingertip over the mousepad as his eyes widen. Jesus Christ, he’s more famous than Louis had thought in the first place.

He reads one article, going through the facts about his life, where he grew up, things like that. From there he begins on music, listening to his first single: Don’t Let Me Go, which had apparently gone number one in less than two weeks. That’s impressive, Louis will give him that much. It’s not long before he’s downloading the album while also watching interviews and Louis knows he’s smiling dumbly at his computer the entire time he does.

Harry’s charming, is the thing. The sort of person that you want to sit next to, want to know what they’re thinking, want to be the centre of their attention. And Louis is endeared by that. 

_Did you know harry got famous by the xfactor ? Amazing !_ he sends to Zayn because he’s the only person Louis knows would be awake after eleven.

His phone goes off less than thirty seconds later. _Oh my god, you googled him didn’t you._

 _Innocent until proven guilty ! ;)_ is all Louis sends back.

_You’re in too fucking deep now, you idiot._

He doesn’t go to bed until two in the morning, and Zayn is possibly right. Louis might already be a little in love with Harry Styles already.

\--

Louis doesn’t see Harry until three days later when he’s in the grocery store.

Though that’s not for his lack of trying. Every once in awhile he’ll scan the lobby, trying to see if he can spot his dark hair amidst the chaos. Or when he’s cleaning the room, lingering possibly a bit longer than he should to see if he’ll come back sometime while he’s there. But Harry never does and he supposes that’s for the better, considering any form of relationship they have is formed on a lie. 

Presently he’s standing in front of a shelf of bread, trying to decide which one he wants. He’s on a twenty-five dollar budget this week, which doesn’t get him very far.

Also apparently choosing what kind of bread he wants is going to take him at least two hours to get through all the different kinds. Who even wants a bread with twenty seven different kinds of whole grains in them? Then it’s just seeds, not even bread anymore, Louis thinks as he reads through one of the packets. Ridiculous. 

It’s Friday, which means it’s his busiest day of the week. Because for one, he’s still got to clean that goddamn room twice a day, which means he’s got to get to work a bit earlier so he can get the rest of his rooms done in time. Not too mention from there he has night class for the next four hours and who makes night class for a final year course on a Friday night? It’s not like he’s in first year, he’s got a life, after all. 

Then again, it’s his last class, so he can’t complain much. After this he’s graduated and has a business degree to claim all his own. If he passes, is the key there, Louis thinks as he puts a loaf of bread into his basket. All he needs is milk and he’ll be on his way.

“A little Friday night shopping?”

Louis turns and Jesus, there’s Harry, big smile and even bigger dimples standing before him. Since when does he have dimples? That’s not fair. He needs more reasons not to like Harry Styles, and those certainly don’t help.

Maybe he likes orange juice with pulp. That’s reason enough not to like someone, right?

“Right, yes, bread and milk, the necessities,” Louis replies, holding up his basket as if to help prove his point, “what brings you here anyway?”

Harry laughs quietly, hands in his pockets and wearing some ridiculously too-big sweater Louis wants to get lost in. He looks tired, a little worn out. 

“Ran out of throat lozenges.” He holds up a package of them as Louis smiles because, well, it’s a little adorable.

“Of course. A big singer like you, they must be a staple in your diet,” Louis says, shifting the weight of the basket in his arms.

“Suppose so,” Harry says as Louis puts a carton of milk into his basket, “how did fixing the treadmill go?”

Louis pauses, bringing his free hand to the back of his neck, briefly running his fingertips over where a small bump had formed from his little ‘accident’. “Wasn’t entirely hopeless, I managed to save it for the most part,” Louis lies, because if he recalls Ben had worked on it for almost two hours and was terribly irritated by the end of it.

They begin walking toward the checkout line, the store somewhat deserted, which means the lines will be short. He pays for his groceries, Harry waiting at the end for him as he pays the clerk, the two of them making their way out into the parking lot.

“It was nice running into you, Greg,” Harry says with a small smile.

And it’s weird, because for a moment, Louis wonders what it would sound like had he said his real name. The moment fades and he’s surprised to find Harry’s walking him to his car, a handful of cars scattered throughout it.

“Nice running into you, Harry,” Louis replies, mirroring the same small smile as he goes to open his trunk.

He sets down the bag of groceries into the trunk, opening the driving side door there’s a moment, though it’s brief, as Harry holds it open for him and their fingertips brush. Louis feels as though he’s been momentarily struck by lightening, catching him off-guard and he hopes that Harry can’t tell how quickly his heart picks up, pounding in his chest.

And in a moment he’s gone, walking to a large vehicle a few feet away, windows dark and sort of daunting, closing the door behind him. It drives away and Louis leans his head against the steering wheel, groaning as he closes his eyes.

He is, perhaps, in too deep.

\--

Saturdays, out of all the days of the week, are his favourite.

Because it’s the day there are no alarms, no subways and no need to be anywhere. Even to clean Harry’s room, since he promised Leigh-Anne a donut every day for the next two weeks if she cleans it Saturday. She’d obliged, and Louis now has the morning to sleep in.

He pulls the comforter closer to himself, toes curling in the heat because he doesn’t have anywhere to be. It’s quiet and there’s nothing he needs to worry about.

That is, until Avery wakes up.

It’s always the same. There’s soft footsteps moving down the small hallway until they reach his door, turning the handle and opening it slowly, carefully. From there Avery walks across the floor before climbing into Louis’ bed, pulling up the covers as he goes. And it wouldn’t be so bad save for the fact that every week, without fail, he insists on putting his feet which at this point are the equivalent to icicles, and burying them between Louis’ calves. 

“Avery,” Louis mutters, “why don’t you watch some TV?”

“It’s broken,” he replies. 

He doesn’t move his feet. Louis wants to cry.

They stay like that for a while, Avery occupying himself one way or another. Sometimes it’s with a book, turning the pages and sounding out the words with each page he turns. Other times he’ll colour, Louis later finding random crayon marks along his sheets sometime later throughout the week. Apparently today he’s playing some handheld game Niall gave him, tucked into the pillows beside him.

He falls in and out of sleep for a little while before finally allowing himself to wake up, stretching his arms as he coughs lightly. His chest feels weirdly tighter, it’s getting worse. But he doesn’t want to think of that right now.

“What do you want to do today?” Louis asks, turning to face him.

Avery pauses whatever game he’s playing, looking up as he frowns. “You said you’d teach me some football,” he says as Louis nods.

“So a little football in the park? Then maybe some ice cream afterward?” Louis asks as Avery grins in response.

It’s a few minutes before they manage pull themselves from bed, moving into the kitchen as Louis makes them some breakfast. From there they get changed, Louis finding his old football buried somewhere in his closet as they get on their shoes. It’s a little after eleven by the time they get out the door, the air a sticky sort of warm as they walk down the street toward the park.

Avery immediately sets into a story from school, telling Louis how they’d mixed two colours together and gotten a completely different one. He’s holding onto his hand tightly, practically bouncing the entire way down the sidewalk.

“What’s your favourite colour?” he asks, tugging on Louis’ hand.

“Um,” Louis begins, leading him across the street, “probably, I dunno, green.”

Avery nods in approval. “Mine’s red,” he tells him as Louis smiles, leading them onto the grass of the park.

They kick the ball around for a while, Louis being reminded of just how much he’d missed football. For a while he’d played in college, but after dropping out to take care of Avery he hasn’t really found any time for it aside from occasionally kicking a ball around some Saturday mornings. But he misses it, regardless.

The sun is warm on his back as he makes a ridiculous dive to save Avery’s kick into his net, sending them both into a fit of laughter and making grass stains along his pants. 

Sometime after that Louis takes out a few sandwiches he’d packed, peanut butter and jam, as they lay on the grass, Avery pointing out shapes in the clouds as they stay like that for a while. 

When they finally get ice cream Louis gets a vanilla cone, Avery some chocolate caramel concoction he can’t even begin to pronounce as he pushes open the door, a small bell going off as they continue down the sidewalk. Avery’s got the football tucked under his arm, face already covered in chocolate as Louis can’t help but laugh quietly.

The pass an old music store as Louis glances in the window briefly, pausing when he does so. Mostly because there’s an obnoxious amount of people in there, and also because he sees a familiar figure somewhere in the midst of it all. It’s Harry, he realizes with a sense of panic, Avery looking up at him as he coughs lightly. It might be from how good Harry looks but he knows it’s mostly his chest, the same tightness returning to it as he coughs into his hand.

When he looks at it, there’s a bit of blood on his palm but it’s nothing. He’s fine.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” he asks.

Louis pushes open the door, not really thinking as Avery follows after him. “I just, um, want to look at something,” Louis tells him.

Avery doesn’t argue as Louis begins browsing through the cramped store, Harry’s back to him as he looks to the group of girls giggling behind him. None of them are actually approaching him, which Louis finds slightly odd. They’re all just taking pictures of him. 

“A little Saturday music shopping?” Louis says as he comes to stand beside Harry now, Avery going to look at the games section a few rows over.

Immediately he can see the surprise on Harry’s face slowly turn into a smile, his long fingers brushing over a line of CDs as he shrugs. “A break between recording,” Harry explains, handing Louis a CD.

“What’s this?” Louis asks, looking at it.

 _Boy_ he reads, _U2_. 

“Have you heard of them?” Harry says after a moment as Louis scoffs.

“More so a fan of The Joshua Tree myself,” he says and Harry seems convinced at that, nodding in approval and Louis can’t help the sense of pride that comes over him when he does.

It’s another moment before he hands Louis another CD case, which he reads. _Dancing in the Dragon’s Jaw_ , it says, _Bruce Cockburn_. His brows furrow. 

“Cock. Burn. That’s... interesting,” Louis says slowly as Harry bursts out laughing though Louis hardly sees what’s so funny.

“Jesus, no, it’s Co-burn,” Harry corrects him, grinning as Louis shakes his head.

“Spelling it like that is bound to confuse people,” Louis defends, handing over the CD as Harry adds it to the already ridiculously large pile in his arms. 

Briefly he looks over the pile in Harry’s arms, trying not to focus on the way they flex because he’s a professional hotel owner. They don’t check out their clients arms. But, if they did, Louis would most certainly be looking at them. Because they’re beautiful.

He spots Avery from the corner of his eye, still occupied with the games as he turns back to Harry. He’s hopeless, already holding another small stack as Louis shakes his head. “Do you think have enough then?” Louis teases as Harry smiles sheepishly.

“I hate downloading music, which sounds ridiculous, I guess, but it’s not the same, you know?” 

Louis briefly considers admitting to downloading all his songs a few nights ago while pathetically curled up on his couch but refrains, deciding that yes, that would possibly be too much for right now.

“I suppose so,” Louis replies as Harry makes his way toward the cashier.

The girls are still there, mostly standing and giggling as Harry pays for his music. “I’m actually going to a show later tonight, if you’re free,” Harry says after a moment, holding a obnoxiously large bag of CD’s, looking rather self conscious as Louis blinks.

He almost looks nervous. Which is absurd, because he has nothing to be nervous about. “I would love too but I’m a little tied up -”

“Dad! Dad! They have that game I was telling you about! They have it here!” Avery is tugging at his hand desperately and Louis takes in a deep breath.

And, well, okay, Louis thinks. That’s one way to introduce the fact that he’s a father. “I will come look but first I want you to meet a -” he pauses, uncertain, “friend of mine. Harry, this is my son, Avery. Avery, this is Harry.”

For a moment Louis can see his son’s eyes widen because Harry’s so fucking massive, so Louis understands. And before he can wonder if he’s made Harry terribly uncomfortable he’s bending down slightly, extending a hand toward his son.

“Nice to meet you, Avery,” Harry says gently as Avery watches him for a moment. 

He grins, then says, "his eyes are green, dad. Like your favourite colour!"

Louis chokes. "I, um, right, yes, they are," he says quickly, forcing a small laugh as they walk toward the door. 

"Your favourite colour?" Harry nudges Louis' side, dimples on full show as Louis rolls his eyes. 

"A dark, forest green. Yours are too light, don't make the cut, so don’t let it get to your head pop star," he replies, trying to ignore the way his cheeks flush. Maybe Harry won’t notice. 

"Right," Harry says as they step outside, the sun still on their backs, "so. I guess that's why you can't come tonight?" 

Louis nods. "We always have dinner and watch The X Factor. It's tradition," he replies. 

"Of course. I should get back to recording anyway, wouldn’t want to break tradition," Harry says. 

Louis looks at him, taking a moment to admire his tanned beauty in the sunlight. "Sing a song about me?" he asks, Avery tugging on his arm. 

"I'll work on it," Harry tells him with a wink and Louis feels slightly dizzy when he does. 

With a final wave they're down the street and headed home, and Louis does not think about how much he would love to kiss Harry. Nor does he think about how it would feel to run his hands along his skin, along those tattoos that sometimes poke from his shirts, revealing those two birds he’s found himself oddly fond of these past few days. 

He doesn't think about it through dinner and he doesn't think about it when he and Avery are later curled up on the couch watching The X Factor (it's a terrible episode anyway. His favourite got kicked off.) and he doesn't think about it when he himself crawls into bed a few hours later. 

\--

"Well, you're famous." 

Louis looks up as Zayn tosses something down in front of him, eyes widening as he reads it over. It's the newspaper, headline bold and bright: _Has Harry Styles Found Love? The Pop Sensation Caught on a Potential Date at a Old Music Store_ with a picture of Harry and himself talking underneath it. 

"That's. Me." Louis says slowly. 

"It most certainly is. On the cover of the newspaper wearing that hideously ratty old jersey you still haven’t thrown out yet. Mady showed me it this morning when I got in, apparently everyone’s rather interested in finding out who this ‘mystery man’ is," Zayn responds, if anything a dull tone in his voice. This is hardly uninteresting, Louis thinks as his eyes scan the page. 

"Why am I on the cover of the newspaper," Louis says; he's not sure if it's a question or a sort of plea for help. 

They're in the kitchens, again, the lunch rush beginning to settle in as Louis stares at the paper in disbelief. Potential date. The last time Louis went on a date was before Avery was born. He doesn't date. He doesn't do much, really, aside from working and school and taking care of his son. What a catch he is, Louis thinks. 

"Because apparently you two were looking rather 'cozy' in that music store a few days ago. One girl claims she saw you two holding hands and singing Elton John to one another," Zayn quotes.

"If we were to serenade each other it would not be to Elton John. Who do they think I am?" Louis scoffs as Zayn glares at him. 

"I don't think now is the time to be picky about this sort of thing," he lectures, taking Louis' empty salad bowl from in front of him and putting it onto the dirty dish stack to the side of the sink. 

So Louis' plan of staying low key, hoping Harry Styles would forget this whole Greg James ordeal isn't going to happen. His only viable option is to run away somewhere, somewhere cold and secluded. Like Canada. Harry will never find him if he goes to Canada. No one would find him if he went to Canada.

"Right, well, this famed face has to go clean a pop stars room. How glamorous," Louis says, getting off his stool as he tosses the paper into the trash bin. 

"Just. Don't do anything else." Zayn tells him as Louis pushes open the kitchen doors before he speaks again. “Harry’s out recording, so you should be good.”

Because, apparently, they’ve developed this sort of ritual, he and Zayn. Wherein Niall figures out what Harry’s general plans are for the day and Zayn relays them to Louis, so as to make sure he doesn’t accidently bump into him while cleaning his room. For as it stands right now he’s got a lot of lies to keep up and the next thing he needs is another one to pile on top of it. Besides, as much as Louis wouldn’t mind he doesn’t want another... towel, incident. 

Harry's room is empty when he gets there, which makes it easier to clean, though it's a horrid mess. But mostly he’s more so concerned with the idea that he’s on the front page of the paper, for the entire world and hotel staff to see. The idea makes his chest tighten, as he reminds himself that, if anything, he’s hardly recognizable in the picture. Mady hadn’t recognized him, with his back to the camera and wearing his hood so if anything, that’s a plus.

As he's pulling the cart from the room almost an hour later, he's stopped by a voice just down the hall. 

"Greg?" It's Harry. Of course it's Harry. 

Louis forces a small laugh, watching Harry's expression quickly turn to one of confusion. He doesn't blame him. 

"What are you - were you just cleaning my room?" He looks possibly scandalized at the idea. 

Louis tugs on his shirt. "Oh yeah, I, um, we're out of housekeepers today so I thought I'd give them a hand," Louis explains, the guilt pooling in his stomach as Harry smiles faintly, completely oblivious to his lies. 

He wonders briefly if there's ever been an extended period of time in which Harry hadn't smiled. Probably not. Because if he had the sun had most likely gone out and the entire world shut down and succumb to chaos.

“You know it’s weird,” Harry begins, leaning against the doorway as Louis tries to steady his breathing, “but I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you before.”

Louis smirks. “What, you mean people who actually do their job?”

He shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose. I just, I dunno. I’ve stayed in a lot of hotels, and you’re the only owner or, anyone I guess I’ve met who doesn’t think that, I don’t know, you’re better than them. I don’t know, I’m not really making sense,” Harry says, shaking his head as he laughs quietly, almost embarrassed. 

But that’s impossible. Harry Styles doesn’t get embarrassed.

“Well I - thank you,” Louis tells him sincerely after a moment, gripping the edge of the cleaning cart in an attempt to keep himself vertical.

It’s quiet for a moment, and for half a minute he wonders if he should just tell him. Tell him that it’s all been one big misunderstanding and he isn’t Greg James, that he was only fixing that treadmill because Greg had no other choice than to ask him. He can imagine Harry’s face, the frown that would pull on his lips. Then again, Louis realizes, he’d have to actually mean something to Harry in order for that to affect him in such a way.

Which, he doesn’t. He barely knows him. 

“So I know, the other night, you were busy. But I was wondering, if I could take you out for dinner this week, if you could possibly fit me into your busy schedule,” Harry breaks the silence and well, Louis hadn’t been expecting that.

“I -” Louis is trying to think of something, anything, any excuse. Though another part of him is begging and pleading for him to say yes. “I think I could, possibly, be able to fit you in, sometime this weekend. Maybe Sunday.”

Harry’s face brightens. “I know there’s like, some sort of, I dunno, code, for asking people out twice in the same week but I guess that doesn’t matter now since you’ve agreed to it.”

“I didn’t know of any code,” Louis says, attempting to sound at least a little scandalized. It doesn’t work. “Maybe I should rescind my acceptance then.”

“Nope, I’m afraid you can’t do that either,” Harry informs him, wagging his finger as he does so.

“Hm, I suppose that’s alright too then. So Sunday?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”

Louis smiles, he’s smiling and he’s blushing, pulling the cart along him and it feels weightless under his fingertips. He’s weightless. He’s going to pass out. 

“Wait -” Louis stops, turning as Harry looks out from his hotel doorway. “Pick me up from the hotel, yeah? I have a - uh, a meeting here, that morning, so I’ll be around.”

Harry nods, giving him one last smile and wave. “It’s a date, Greg James.”

A date, Louis repeats in his mind as he presses the elevator button. A date, a real date with Harry Styles.

\--

“I haven’t been on a date since college.”

He’s greeted with silence. There’s two other people in the room and they have nothing to say, apparently. 

“That means nothing. Now try on what I picked out,” Zayn says from the edge of his bed, he and Niall beside one another as Louis groans.

When he had agreed to this date, if he’d known the large amount of stress he would take from it he would’ve said no to the whole thing in the first place. Though that’s not to say he didn’t try to think of an excuse not to go, pacing his bedroom and trying to come up with some sort of illness he could fake, but all he could come up with is mad cow disease. Which... wouldn’t work. 

Avery’s watching a movie in the living room as Louis instead tries on Zayn’s outfit he’d picked out, looking in the mirror as he pauses, briefly. Mostly because he looks good. It might be the dark red of his pants, or the button up white shirt, but Louis likes to think it’s because of his suspenders. He’d forgotten he even had those, Jesus. 

“I don’t know why you’re so nervous,” Niall begins as Louis takes another look in the mirror, “I mean it’s not like your entire relationship is founded on lies and deceit.”

Louis straightens out his shirt, not looking as he flips Niall off from where he’s standing. So, fine. Suspenders it is.

“You two will be alright with Avery?” he asks, picking up his phone and wallet as he puts them into his pockets.

“Yes, for the millionth time,” Zayn says as Niall nods.

After a fair bit of coaxing Louis finally exits his room, ignoring the way his heart feels as though it’s somewhere in his throat as he looks in the living room. Avery’s on his stomach, sprawled out ridiculously across the floor, legs in the air and waving his feet around as Louis smiles faintly.

He approaches him, kneeling as he straightens out the collar of his shirt. “Are you going to be good for Uncle Zayn and Uncle Niall?” Louis asks, pausing the video.

It takes a moment but finally Louis watches him turn, looking up toward him with a nod. He kisses his forehead briefly, “I know they won’t tell as good bedtime stories as I do, but, Zayn’s a really good cook and Niall can help you with that game you’ve been having trouble,” Louis tells him, though at this rate he’s sure he’s mostly just talking to himself, giving the reminders that his son will be fine and he can take one night for himself. Just one. 

“When will you be back?” Avery asks after a moment.

“I’ll be back by the time you’re in bed,” Louis tells him, pressing another kiss to the top of his head, “I love you.”

Avery smiles, laughing quietly as he kisses Louis’ cheek. “Love you too, daddy.”

And that’s good enough for him. He straightens out, making sure he has everything for a second time as he walks toward the door. 

“I can’t go. What was I thinking?” Louis states as he turns, finding Niall and Zayn behind him.

“Why can’t you go?” Niall asks.

Louis pauses, blinking, as he racks his brain. “Because I’m not Greg James.”

Zayn shrugs, leaning against the wall as he rolls up his sleeves. “True. But he doesn’t know that,” he says, “does he make you happy?”

Louis chews his lower lip. “Yes.”

“Then, what else do you need? Just go. Have fun. We’ll all be here when you get back,” Zayn says gently as Louis sighs in defeat.

“Fine. Fine, fine, I’ll go. But if anything happens you’ll call me, yeah?” 

Zayn and Niall nod wordlessly as he opens the door, taking a step out into the hallway. “And you’ll feed him? Make sure he brushes his teeth? He likes his um, he likes his nightlight on and he hates thunderstorms, if it, y’know, thunderstorms,” Louis rants as Zayn rolls his eyes.

“It’s supposed to be sunny with a chance of blowjobs,” he says, waving his hand, “now go before you’re late, you asshat.”

“He’ll be fine,” Niall assures him as Louis takes in a deep breath.

“Fine. But no blowjobs, Jesus, we’ve just met,” Louis says as Zayn smirks from the doorway.

And before he can talk himself out of this and walk away, he starts down the hallway. He tries to ignore the way his hands shake as he walks down the stairs and out the door. It’s just a date. People go on dates all the time. 

Then again, Louis thinks as he makes his way onto the subway, they don’t go on dates with pop stars such as Harry Styles. 

By time he actually gets to the hotel it’s already seven twenty six, leaving him four whole minutes to spare as he stands outside the doors, hands in his pockets as he tries to steady his breathing. Going in probably isn’t the best idea considering that the already curious hotel staff will make he and Harry the new hotel gossip and, well, that wouldn’t work out too well once Harry finds out who he is. Or who he isn’t.

“Always prompt.” Louis turns to see Harry approaching him and for a moment he forgets to breathe.

He’s wearing tight jeans and a button up shirt with a jacket over it, hair styled the way Louis adores so much and fuck, he’s really not breathing. “Ready to go?”

He briefly has to remember the English language, which has somehow escaped him in the past thirty seconds as he smiles faintly. “Take me away, pop star.”

Harry laughs quietly. “You’re the only one able to get away with that, you know.”

Louis grins, fingertips brushing the back of Harry’s hand as they walk toward his car. “We’re um, we’re not taking that,” Harry tells him, motioning toward the car as Louis blinks.

“How else are we going to get around then?” Louis asks, attempting to sound as pathetic as he can.

“Your legs, have you ever heard of them?” Harry replies, giving him a once over, his grin unmistakable as Louis feels his cheeks flush. “Besides, you’ve got nice legs. Gives me time to appreciate them.”

“Oh my God.” Louis hits his arm lightly, following him down the slightly crowded street. “You are shameless.”

Harry merely shrugs, the idiot, one hand in his pocket and the other dangerously close to Louis’ own as they continue walking. But neither of them move their hands and after a while Harry’s pinky wraps around his own and Louis is okay with that. Very much so alright with that. He doesn’t know where they’re going but right now he doesn’t particularly care, far too wrapped up in how warm Harry’s touch is against his skin. 

“How do you feel about hamburgers? French fries?” Harry finally asks him as they pass by the coffee stand Louis goes to every morning.

“I love them. Worship them, actually. I’ve nearly finished building a shrine for them in my room,” Louis tells him, “why do you ask?”

Harry’s biting his lower lip in an attempt to hide the terribly large smile he’s trying to hold back. It’s not working. “I was thinking that maybe we could try some.”

“So you’re telling me, I’m going on a date with Harry Styles, and getting hamburgers and fries?” Louis asks, attempting to sound at least a little disappointed, “I suppose I can deal with that. Though I was hoping to get a sixty dollar steak or something ridiculous.”

“We could arrange that though I can assure you it’d be stuffy and terribly boring,” Harry replies as Louis shakes his head.

“No no, hamburgers and fries will be just lovely,” Louis reassures him.

They continue toward a small restaurant Harry’s friend Liam apparently informed him is the best hamburger in town and he’s so terribly excited that Louis doesn’t tell him where the actual best hamburger place is, Dusty’s, just two blocks over. Instead he orders their dinners while he and Harry sit at a small old wooden table out front.

He’s about to take a bite when he looks up to Harry, pausing as he does so. Presently he’s got the top off of his hamburger bun off, and is now picking off the onions, tomatoes, and lettuce and putting them in a small pile of his tray. Louis tries not to laugh, he truly does, but it’s so ridiculous watching Harry try to get it all off without getting his hands dirty. 

“Is there going to be any hamburger left at this rate?” he asks as Harry glares up at him, sticking out his tongue childishly in response. 

“I just don’t. Like onions. Or tomatoes. Or lettuce,” Harry explains.

“Is there anything left to put on your hamburger?” Louis teases, picking up one of his fries and taking a bite.

And it’s like, no matter what he does, Louis is still so terribly endeared to him. As they eat Harry tells him about recording, and it all sounds like it’s going well, Louis thinks as he continues to eat. Then again he knows nothing about recording and singing and any of that so he doesn’t have much to contribute but either way, Harry’s nice to listen to.

“So you like it? All the singing and the touring?” Louis asks, wiping the corner of his mouth as Harry nods.

“Yeah, I do,” Harry says slowly, pausing for a moment as he eats another french fry. “It’s a bit lonely though, I suppose. I dunno. I always thought I’d be in a band or something.”

Louis watches him, a sad sort of look on his face as he talks. “You could always, I dunno, form one? From what I hear a lot of people like you,” he teases lightly, and it makes Harry smile a little more.

“No, you’re right I just, it’s stupid. But I guess I always thought if I was supposed to be in a band I would’ve met them, y’know? We would all be together from the beginning. Making one now just seems pointless I guess. Well not, pointless, but I don’t know, it wouldn’t really work,” Harry explains, shaking his head, “God, sorry, this date isn’t supposed to be about me complaining. I have more planned than that.”

Louis’ eyebrows raise as he looks to Harry curiously. “What sort of things do you have planned?” he asks, taking his and Harry’s now empty trays as he tosses them into the garbage.

“Hm, that’s supposed to be a surprise,” Harry says as Louis pouts, “now come one we’ve got to get going.”

Louis follows, if only because he’s curious to what he’s planned. The sun’s beginning to set as Harry’s fingers find his own once more, moving along the inside of his palm and Louis tries to ignore the way his heart beats a little faster when he does. 

They reach a building unfamiliar to him, Harry opening the door as he holds it open for Louis as he steps inside. “So this is where you’re planning on killing me then? In some weird building no one knows about?” Louis asks as Harry shakes his head.

“No, God, I would’ve done that at the beginning of the date,” Harry jokes, leading him down the small, carpeted hallway.

He opens another door, looking slightly more nervous now, Louis thinks as he watches him pocket his key. And before he can make another joke he steps inside and, well.

It’s a recording studio, Louis realizes straight away. Harry’s recording studio. Where he’s been spending so much of his time these past few weeks, locked away in this tiny room. 

“Is this where you’ve been recording?” Louis asks the obvious question as Harry nods, letting the door close behind him.

There’s a stool in the middle of the room, along with a stand and a microphone. It’s all a bit daunting, Louis thinks, as he looks at all the odd padding along the wall. He runs his fingertip along the top of the stand, looking down to the papers scattered on it as he takes in a deep breath.

“This is it. It’s not much, but I don’t like going all out for this sort of thing,” Harry replies with a shrug as Louis sets himself on the stool. 

“Well, get on with it then,” Louis tells him, motioning toward the microphone.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, confused.

Louis reaches out, taking his hand into his own gently as he looks to Harry expectantly. “Sing for me, of course. Isn’t that what recording studios are for? To serenade those you take on dates?”

“Well, I um, I need your help with something, actually,” Harry says after a moment, not letting go of Louis’ hand as he talks.

“Hm?” Louis presses, motioning for him to continue talking as Harry takes another step toward him.

He’s close enough to kiss him, Louis realizes as he takes in a deep breath. But he doesn’t, instead turning toward the stand as he pulls out a stack of papers. “I was wondering if you wanted to help me with writing this song I just started working on. You don’t have to - it’s dumb, but I just thought that -”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts his ramblings gently, “I’d love too. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Truthfully, he’s never written a song before. But he supposes he could try.

So he shows him. The pages are a mess and there’s random words written across it, but he’s got a chorus. Which is good, apart from the fact that he has no verses and no melody. 

Harry takes out his guitar, humming a tune as Louis listens quietly. It’s nice, he thinks, watching his longer fingertips move along the guitar strings. 

“Whenever I close my eyes I picture you there,” Louis reads from the paper about an hour later, knee’s against Harry’s as they sit cross legged on the floor, “I’m looking out at the crowd you’re everywhere. I’m watching you from the stage yeah, your smile is on every face now. But every time you wake up you’re hearing me say -”

“Good by-ey-ey-ey,” Harry sing songs with his guitar as Louis smiles.

“Baby, you don’t have to worry,” Louis starts to sing, quietly, “I’ll be coming back for you, back for you, back for you.”

Harry’s still playing as they both laugh quietly, nodding, as Louis sets the sheets of paper onto his lap. “You’re good, y’know,” he tells him.

Louis shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

Harry doesn’t argue, instead shaking his head as he leans forward just slightly, pressing his forehead against Louis’ own for a few moments, staying in his space. And for a while Louis stays there, feeling his warm breath on his cheek before pulling back slightly, almost kissing him before he clears his throat.

“So that’s good? The song?” he asks, leaning back onto the palms of his hands.

“It’s brilliant, Louis. Absolutely brilliant,” Harry beams, nodding toward the papers. “It’s just what I was wanting to write.”

Louis swallows, feeling his cheeks flush as he laughs quietly. “I’m um, well, I’m glad.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything for a few moments, watching Louis as he sets down his guitar onto the carpeted floor. Louis doesn’t want to get his hopes but he thinks, possibly, Harry might kiss him. And Louis might let him. He’s not sure which thought terrifies him more.

“Come here,” Harry says gently, voice hushed in the already silent room as Louis does as he asks. He leans forward, closer and closer until he’s so close Louis can’t focus on anything else except the way his lips are parted as he breathes in and out, in and out. 

And he wants to kiss Harry, is the thing. Has wanted to since the moment he saw him in that ridiculous towel of his. 

Louis carefully braces his hands on Harry’s knees, leaning closer until he can almost taste him, can imagine what it would feel like to kiss him. Harry’s breathing slowly, as if he needs to remind himself to do so and the idea makes Louis smile faintly, at having that sort of effect on someone. Especially someone with eyes as green as his. 

And so, after a moment, Harry leans in, Louis not moving as he shifts and suddenly, his lips are against Louis’ own and everything seems to stop. It’s warm and gentle and careful, so very careful, as if at one moment everything could collapse and the moment could be gone. But Louis isn’t going anywhere. Not if he has any say in the matter.

It’s like everything inside of him, every part of his is aching for Harry in such a real way it scares him. To have him touch him, kiss him, makes Louis want him to see every bit of him. 

He begins to gently suck on Harry’s lower lip which solicits a quiet moan, deep and low in his chest as Louis smiles faintly. Harry’s so moldable, moving with his touch and responding to him and fuck, Louis can’t get enough of that.

He moves his hands up along his thighs carefully, gently, enjoying the way Harry leans against the wall to support himself as he does so. Slowly he lowers himself into Harry’s lap, continuing to kiss him as he runs a fingertip along his collarbone. 

“Greg,” Harry breathes, just below a whisper as Louis begins to kiss along his neck.

And it’s terrible because all he wants, in that moment, watching Harry tilt his head back against the wall, is to hear his own name. Which isn’t going to happen. And he knows that. 

It’s like, it’s like they’ve met before, Louis thinks as he kisses along his jawline, Harry’s hands gentle on his waist. Like somewhere else, in another universe or another parallel life or whatever it is, he’d still be kissing Harry. Almost like he was made to kiss Harry. No one else, just him.

He carefully undoes one button of Harry’s shirt, then another, more skin being exposed with each one as he does so. It reveals his tattoos, the birds first, Louis realizes as he hums against his skin. Those birds he has admired for weeks. So he kisses them once, twice, and again, sucking on the skin as he hears Harry inhale sharply.

“I like these, you know,” Louis says softly against his skin as Harry lets out a moan, low and deep.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Harry pants, trying to regulate his breathing.

Louis noses along his skin, collarbone, feeling Harry’s hands tremble as he runs them along his arms. Harry's hard, Louis notes as he presses a faint kiss behind his ear. "Harry," Louis says gently, tugging on the the belt of his pants, as if asking permission. 

Harry nods as Louis kisses him briefly before beginning to undo his pants, "I need you to -" Louis begins as he carefully removes himself from Harry’s lap. Immediately Harry understands as he shifts, slowly standing, making it easier to pull his pants down. 

“Good thing these walls are padded, yeah?” Louis says with a wink and relishes, perhaps a bit too much, in the way Harry whimpers in response. 

He carefully kisses the inside of Harry’s thigh, skin soft against his lips as he brings a hand to his cock, running his thumb along the tip of it, soliciting a sharp intake of breath and thrusting forward from Harry when he does. Louis licks down his cock, gently gripping at Harry’s calves as he tries not to focus on the way his heart is pounding in his chest.

Instead he focuses on Harry, how his curls are slightly matted to his forehead, head tilted back and looking absolutely fucking gorgeous. He puts his lips around Harry’s cock, licking circles on the head until it entices a moan from Harry’s mouth, red and swollen from where he’s been biting at the skin. 

Louis wraps his lips around Harry’s cock, focuses on breathing in through his nose as he sucks down inch after inch into his mouth. Harry’s hands go down to curl in his hair hesitantly, like they’re not sure if they’re allowed to touch or not. 

Louis pulls off, taking a deep breath and bracing his palm against Harry’s hipbone. “You can, if you want.”

“Oh my fucking _God_ ,” Harry whines, burying his hands in Louis’ hair. Louis grins, quick and dirty, and sinks his mouth back down onto Harry’s dick. He gently scrapes his teeth along the tip as he goes down, looking up at Harry’s face as he does. Harry looks absolutely _wrecked_ , face splotchy, hair stuck to his face with exertion, his bottom lip caught in between his teeth. Louis doesn’t think he’s ever looked more beautiful than he does now. 

Louis tries to relax his throat, taking Harry in as far as he can until he can feel Harry’s cock hit the back of his throat, wrenching a, “Greg,” from Harry’s mouth as his fingers tighten painfully in Louis’ hair. Louis has to press the hand on Harry’s hip down hard to keep him from thrusting forward; his eyes are already watering and he’s getting lightheaded as he runs out of air, but there’s something so fucking wonderful about the way Harry looks, the way Harry’s body is reacting to what Louis is doing to him. 

It has been a while, though, and so he has to unfortunately pull off sooner rather than later, sucking in a much needed breath and wrapping a loose hand around Harry’s cock to wank him while he sucks again at the tip, swiping his tongue across the tip and moaning at Harry’s precome falling onto his tongue. 

It must be this that pushes Harry over the edge; before Louis can blink, Harry is coming with a shout into Louis’ quickly opened mouth, an unfortunate few hitting his cheek. 

Harry slowly slumps to the floor, mouth slack and breathing heavily as Louis wipes his mouth, leaning over to kiss him, briefly, his breath warm on his cheeks. 

“I think,” Harry chokes out after a moment, “I might be hopelessly in love with you.”

Louis hums, content, as he presses a kiss to Harry’s palm. They stay like that for a while, Louis finally jerking himself off as Harry watches, breathing heavily and later kissing whatever bits of Louis he can reach, any part of him that’s exposed. 

Louis kisses him and tries to ignore the way his heart aches at how Harry touches him, so gently and carefully. 

As they’re walking through the instruments in the studio over, Louis pauses in front of the drum set, arms crossed over his chest as Harry comes up behind him. “Do you play?” Harry asks, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

“What - no, God, just the clarinet,” Louis replies, Harry laughing quietly into his shoulder. “Avery plays them. Wants his own drum set.”

Harry says nothing for a moment, as if waiting for him to continue. Something reminiscent of Zayn, Louis thinks, going quiet when he wants Louis to finish his thought. “I wouldn’t know where to begin with buying them, I suppose,” he finishes. He doesn’t tell Harry how there’s no way he could afford a drum set in the foreseeable future, instead, staying quiet. 

And that’s, not a lie. Harry doesn’t ask anything further of it, instead intertwining their fingers as Louis ignores the tightness in his throat. God, he can hardly afford groceries every week there’s no fucking way he could afford a drum set. 

A part of him wants to tell Harry that. In the quiet of the studio, secluded from everything and everyone, wants to admit everything to him. But a part of him, that part Louis hates, holds back. And instead he grips Harry’s hand, leaning back into him as he tries not to think of how much Avery’s been talking about getting a new drum set, how hopeful he is that he’ll get one by Christmas. 

And most importantly, he tries not to think about the way that he might, possibly, potentially, be in love with Harry Styles. 

\--

Harry walks him back to the hotel after their date, listening to Louis tell some ridiculous story of the time Avery nearly burnt down their flat when he’d decided to surprise Louis with breakfast in bed. Needless to say Harry listened the entire time, hand wrapped loosely around his waist and occasionally pressing a kiss to his cheek, or temple, or that sensitive little spot just behind his ear. 

Louis takes them in through the employee entrance, deciding that standing in front of the large glass lobby doors with Harry Styles for the world and entire staff to see probably wasn’t the best idea. 

It’s Sunday night, meaning the halls are nearly empty as Louis stands on his toes, leaning up to kiss Harry gently, hands on his waist and enjoying how it makes his head spin. Louis keeps saying how he has to go, get home to Avery, but Harry keeps kissing him and it’s only eleven. He’s still got time.

Finally, finally he’s able to step away, admiring the way Harry’s hair sticks out in odd places, lips dark red as Louis nods, satisfied. “I had a good time, pop star.”

Harry laughs, quietly, shaking his head. “What are you doing next weekend?”

Louis raises his eyebrows, “I’m a very busy man, Mr. Styles, I can’t go around on dates and spending my free time galavanting the streets -”

He’s got his hand on the door handle, turning it as Harry takes a step forward, kissing Louis again in a sort of desperate way, rough and biting down on his lower lip and well, okay. By the time he pulls away Louis is straightening out his shirt, cheeks flush as he tries to stop his hand from shaking as he opens the door.

“Though I suppose, we could... do that... again,” Louis says, taking a step outside, not once taking his eyes off of Harry as he does so.

“Goodnight, Greg,” Harry tells him with a smile.

“Goodnight, Harry,” Louis replies, the door falling closed with a small click.

He doesn’t stop smiling all the way home. Or when he gets into his flat. Or when he tells Zayn and Niall that Harry Styles is an absolute dream boat, both of them rolling their eyes as they say their goodbyes.

When they’re gone Louis carefully opens the door to Avery’s room, padding across the floor as he carefully sets himself on the edge of his son’s bed. The light above his bed is on, curled up with his pillow as Louis smiles faintly. 

He presses a faint kiss to his forehead, about to stand when Avery stirs, eyes blinking open tiredly. 

“Dad?” he asks, his voice muffled by his pillow.

“Hi baby,” Louis says gently, “did you have a good time with Uncle Zayn and Uncle Niall?”

Avery nods, but it’s almost midnight and Louis can tell he’s having issues keeping his eyes open. “Uncle Zayn made grilled cheese with macaroni and cheese in it,” Avery tells him after a moment.

“Sounds wonderfully disgusting,” Louis says gently, bringing the covers up to his son’s chin, “I’ll see you in the morning alright?”

He closes the bedroom door, making his way into his room as he falls onto his bed, taking off his pants and his shirt, tossing them haphazardly onto the floor. He’s about to drift off to sleep when his phone buzzes from beside him on his mattress. 

_Maybe we can be the band. Me and you. Singing our songs together up on that big stage one day xx._

Louis doesn’t have the energy to reply, mostly because he isn’t even sure what to say.

But he’d like that, is the problem. He’d like that very much.

\--

And for a week, things are perfect. Or about as perfect as they can get.

Louis is able to clean his room without any more weird run-ins and it gives Zayn something less to stress about. And when he’s not working he’s most usually being distracted by Harry, who will ask him to look something over or once, during his lunch break, Louis sat with him in his hotel room as he played some chords on his guitar. It wasn’t long before Louis was kissing him, the guitar abandoned as he pinned Harry to the floor, but the idea was nice, being serenaded by Harry Styles and all that, except the only issue being Louis can’t seem to keep his hands off of him. 

Which is fine because Harry doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

“You two are disgusting,” Niall tells Louis one day, just as he’s about to leave for class.

“Now now, jealousy is not very becoming,” Louis scolds, picking up his bag as Niall rolls his eyes from the living room.

Halfway through another deliriously boring class he gets a text: _Hiiiiiiiii. What are you up to? :)x_ it’s Harry. Louis would know those xx’s anywhere.

_A little tied up at the moment , will be free in abt an hour . why ?_

He gets a reply within the minute. _Just want you to see something. Meet you at the hotel when you’re done?_

Louis says yes. And after class he gets into Niall’s car, texting him to tell him he has to do something for work and will be a little late as he meets Harry outside the hotel. “So where are we going then?” Louis asks as Harry gets into the front seat, though it’s a bit comical, watching him try and squeeze into Niall’s car. His knees are halfway up the dash already.

“It’s a surprise,” Harry informs him, struggling to get on his seatbelt as he motions for Louis to turn.

“I don’t like surprises,” Louis pouts as he turns the wheel onto the next street.

But Harry refuses to tell him and instead he keeps driving, following the directions until he tells him to stop. They’re in front of a small music shop, Louis notes as he gets out of the car. “Need help picking out a new guitar then?” Louis asks as Harry briefly kisses his cheek as he opens the door.

“Not quite.”

“You’re being quite elusive today, pop star,” Louis informs him and Jesus, what kind of music shop is over after nine pm anyway?

He follows Harry quietly, glancing along the walls as they stop in front of something. Well, not just something, Louis realizes. It’s a drum set. 

“You said Avery likes to play,” Harry says after a moment, “he was telling me all about it the other day when he was with Niall at the front desk.”

Louis swallows. “Harry,” he croaks, “you didn’t.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, instead leaning over as he presses a kiss to Louis’ temple. “I might have. Though they won’t be in for a few weeks, they’re still on backorder,” Harry explains and Louis is going to be sick. He's not even sure he can pay him back for a drumstick, let alone the entire drumset itself. 

“I have to - I have to pay you back I have to -”

“Greg.”

“This is ridiculous, Harry, why on earth would you _do_ this -”

“ _Greg_.”

He stops talking, looking toward him as he feels his throat tighten, coughing into his elbow as he winces. There’s more blood. Louis wipes it away quickly, still slightly distraught at the fact that Harry Styles just purchased his son a near two hundred dollar drum set.

“I wanted to do this,” Harry says gently, but Louis shakes his head.

His head is pounding and his chest is aching and all he can think about is how Harry is gently rubbing his arms, pulling him closer and Louis isn’t pushing him away. He grips Harry’s shirt, anchoring himself there as he tries to steady his breathing.

“Thank you,” Louis whispers finally into his neck.

Harry doesn’t say anything, instead pulling Louis a little closer and that’s enough for him.

\--

Saturday is when things get better, but also worse. 

When he wakes up in the morning his head is pounding and he’s almost certain he has a fever, coughing loudly into his elbow. There’s more blood, darker now, on his skin as Louis winces. He’s fine. He’s fine he’s fine and he’s going to keep telling himself that. Even when he sits up and his head spins and he can feel chills run through his body.

He’s fine.

His phone is going off from his bedside table as he answers it, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to elevate the pounding in his head. “Hello?”

“Morning,” Harry begins as Louis sinks back into his pillows, “did I wake you?”

“No,” Louis lies, shifting as he leans his head against the headboard. He can’t get comfortable. He’s too hot and too cold all at once and it’s making him want to rip off all his skin in the least violent way possible.

Harry hums, unconvinced. “What are you doing today? Working?”

Louis closes his eyes. Makes the world spin less this way.

“Not today, no.” He wants to add because Leigh-Anne is a goddess sent from heaven above, but decides on keeping that out. “Why? Decided to buy me an entire marching band to play for me while I make breakfast?”

Harry laughs, the sound comforting to Louis. “That’s not until our next date,” Harry says easily, Louis hearing him shuffle about, most likely wearing that ridiculous towel of his. 

“Right, ‘course. The fourth date is where you tell me you’ve got a magic flying carpet as well, yeah?” He pauses, coughing once more into his elbow.

“Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Sounds like you are.”

“I most certainly am not,” Louis argues.

“That sounds like a terrible cough,” Harry returns.

“It’s nothing.”

He can almost picture the face Harry’s most likely making, unhappy and argumentative, but he doesn’t push it. “Are you still going to the park with Avery?”

Louis shifts, turning to look toward his window, but the blinds are still pulled. “Is it sunny outside?”

“Do you not have windows in your bedroom?” Harry asks, as if the idea wouldn’t completely shock him.

“Yes. However, I’m far too lazy to actually open the blinds,” Louis responds, somewhat dramatically. 

“Oh my God,” Harry begins as Louis smiles to himself, “it’s sunny outside,” he finishes.

“Wonderful. Then it looks like we will be meeting you in the park,” Louis informs him, sitting up as he immediately regrets it.

“Or, alternatively, you could stay in bed and I could make you chicken soup,” Harry replies as Louis rolls his eyes.

“First, as much as I love chicken soup and the idea of watching you cook, I’m fine. I’m not sick.”

His point is soon invalidated by another cough into his elbow, rattling his lungs as he tries to take in a deep breath. He’s fine.

“Clearly,” Harry states sarcastically.

“We’ll meet you at the park? A little after noon?”

“If you don’t hack up a lung first.”

Harry’s funny this morning, apparently, Louis notes as he sighs loudly. “Yes well, I’m sure after a little chicken soup my missing lung will be right as rain.”

“Which park?”

“Buchanan, just near the subway station,” Louis replies.

“Right, of course,” Harry pauses, Louis guesses to write it down before adding, “Bye, Greg.” Louis can hear the smile in his voice as he’s speaking now, all fond and ridiculous and dimples.

“Bye, Harry.” 

He hangs up his phone, tossing it onto his mattress as he sits up once more, pushing himself from his bed. His toes are cold as he grabs a change of clothes, going into the kitchen as he turns on the kettle. He’s half expecting to see Avery asleep in his bed as he opens his son's bedroom door, but finds quite the opposite.

Avery’s already dressed, football tucked under his arm as Louis blinks. “Do you want some breakfast?” Louis asks, leaning against the doorway.

Avery turns, nodding slowly. “Is Harry coming with us?”

Louis walks out into the kitchen, taking out some bread as he hears Avery climb up onto a small stool near the counter’s edge. “Yes, he most certainly is. Is that alright?” Louis asks, handing him his peanut butter and jam sandwich.

“He can be the other goalie,” Avery informs him, taking a bite as Louis laughs quietly.

He still hasn’t told Avery about the drumset, granted it’s only been less than twelve hours since he himself found out about them so, that’s his excuse for not telling him then. Also because he’s still trying to find a way to pay Harry back, though all his options leave him broke and without a flat which he doesn’t think is for the best. 

He’s got less than one hundred dollars in his bank account since paying rent last week and every time he looks at the numbers he feels a little more ill.

Going into the bathroom he looks around in the medicine cabinet for something, anything to help his cough. But all he finds is some tylenol and some weird foot cream he distinctly remembers belongs to Niall. It’s just a cough, anyway, it’s not like he’s deathly ill or anything.

Though he supposes the blood is a bit... worrisome. 

“Dad, are you ready to go?” Avery asks as he looks to the time. 

“Avery, babe, it’s not even eleven. We’ve still got an hour till we meet him,” Louis tells him, watching him cross his arms over his chest in clear unhappiness. “Why don’t you go tidy your room while I take a shower?”

He huffs but doesn’t argue, walking off to his room as Louis goes to get some clothes, closing the door and turning on the shower. The steam helps the tightness in his chest as he washes his hair, humming quietly to himself.

By the time he’s dressed and ready to go it’s already half past eleven as Avery shows him his clean room and save for the large pile of clothes he’s shoved under his bed, he thinks they’re ready to go.

It’s a bit colder outside, Louis realizes, having forgotten a jacket as he holds Avery’s hand beside him. He’s talking about school, telling him about how he scored a goal in gym class the other day and Louis grins, pulling him closer as they walk onto the grass.

Though it doesn’t take long to spot Harry.

He’s in a ridiculously bright tank top, his shorts perhaps a little short, hands on his hips and wearing those bright trainers Louis had first seen him in at the gym. As much as Louis doesn’t want to admit it, he looks like one of those attractive trainers at the gym. The kind that are the sole reason you get a gym membership, to half ass it on a treadmill and stare at them shamelessly while doing so. It’s like his worst nightmare come true in this very park.

“I see you dressed up for the occasion,” Louis comments as Harry shrugs.

“Just had these lying around...” he replies, tugging on his shirt as Louis tries not to laugh.

“Well I think you look lovely,” Louis tells him, mostly sincere, as Avery puts the football on the ground.

Harry rolls his eyes, putting an arm around Louis’ neck as he pulls him close, tucked under his arm as he glances to Avery. “So how is this going to work?” Harry asks.

“You and dad are goalies, obviously. I try and get the ball in your net as much as I can.”

Louis looks to Harry, shaking his head, “yeah, Harry, you should know this by now,” he teases.

“You two are ridiculous,” Harry informs them, releasing Louis as he kicks the ball Avery had put on the ground a few moments ago.

“Hey! Get back here!” Louis cries as he and Avery take off after him, Harry laughing loudly under the bright sun.

It doesn’t take long to get the ball back from Harry, apparently he’s not as good at football as he’d promised Louis. But it’s fine, because he’s laughing and out of breath and Louis has to refrain himself from kissing him right then and there. Instead he gently pokes the sensitive spot in his side he knows so well, relishing in the way he jumps, pointing a finger at Louis accusingly.

Avery soon yells at them to stop ‘horsing around’ and get into positions. Louis isn’t sure when but somehow his six year old has become rather bossy, informing Harry he needs to be on his guard at all time as they set up their goal posts out of piles of sweaters and Louis’ bag. 

And the thing, Louis soon realizes, that Harry is terrible. He’s all limbs, throwing himself about in an attempt to stop the ball though it never works. The ball keeps going in but he never stops smiling, laughing loudly from between his goal posts as Louis watches him. Avery gets another goal through his net, his sixth or seventh because Louis has lost count, before falling onto the ground in front of Harry.

“You’re not very good,” Avery tells Harry as Louis comes to sit beside him, Harry panting from where he’s sprawled out across the grass.

“Avery,” Louis says, nudging him, “that’s not very nice.”

“Well, he’s right,” Harry grins, laughing quietly. 

Louis coughs into his elbow again, chest tightening and he can see the concern on Harry’s face but decides against commenting on it. 

“Maybe it’s your shoes,” Louis says after a moment, tossing a few pieces of grass toward Harry, “they’re so bright they’re distracting you from the ball.”

Harry scoffs. “Liam promised me they’re good luck shoes. They’re supposed to make me the best football player in the world.”

Avery laughs as Louis smiles, watching the way Harry’s chest rises and falls. His cheeks are flushed, a beautifully sinful shade of pink, and he can’t seem to look away. “You can play for my team any day,” Louis tells him, brushing a bit of hair from his forehead.

“Hm, well in that case, I can even get you your own pair of shoes. Just like mine,” Harry offers, grinning as Louis presses a brief kiss to his forehead.

“As much as I would love that,” Louis begins, his toes curling into the grass, “I think I might have to pass. They don’t go with anything I own.”

Harry scoffs. “That’s the _point_.”

He’s drumming his fingers against his chest as Louis gently intertwines them, running his thumb along the back of his hand as Harry turns his head, pressing a kiss to his forearm. 

“Gross!” Avery cries from a few feet away as Louis blushes, burying his head into Harry’s chest, “can we keep playing? I need to practice!”

“Think you can make it?” Louis asks, looking at Harry pointedly.

“These shoes give me unlimited strength,” Harry informs him as Louis snorts.

“Right, well, lets test that theory,” Louis challenges, pushing himself up off the ground as Harry follows suit.

And so as he goes back to his goal Harry motions Avery toward him, the two talking amongst one another as Louis puts his hands on his hips.

“Hey!” he calls out, “hey that’s not fair!”

But neither of them say anything, instead, starting down the field as Louis blinks. Harry’s beside him and Louis is fairly certain they’re teaming up against him. That’s not fair. That’s not fair at all. “You can’t just gang up on someone like this it’s not fair!” Louis cries, waving his hands, “I won’t stand for this!”

Harry kicks the ball with a little more force than Louis had been expecting, sending it through his legs and down the hill as Avery yells out in triumph, clapping his hands as Louis scrunches his nose.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me on my first goal?” Harry asks.

“I don’t congratulate traitors,” Louis huffs, refusing to look him in the eye.

Harry doesn’t reply, instead, bending down slightly to pick up Louis and throwing him over his shoulder. He squirms, trying to get free but apparently Harry Styles has an iron grip as he holds on tight to his waist.

“You’re in trouble now daddy!” Avery cries and oh, God.

“Harry Styles you let me down right now!” he says impatiently, pounding on Harry’s back as he pays no attention to Louis’ pleas, beginning to walk down the hill to retrieve the ball.

“Not until you tell me how good of a goal that was,” Harry says simply, taking the football in his other hand.

It must be a sight to see, Louis thinks. A human being on one arm and a football in the other. 

“Oh my God. Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“Right. Well then, I hope you’re comfortable up there,” Harry informs him.

He wasn’t kidding, either. He and Avery kick the ball between one another as Louis stays over his shoulder. It takes a good four minutes before he caves, not liking the way Harry’s boney shoulder is digging into his stomach.

“You did a beautiful goal,” Louis begins, voice low in Harry’s ear, “I’ll give you my own congratulations sometime this week, how does that sound?”

Harry chokes, carefully letting Louis down onto the ground. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Neither is keeping someone hostage over your shoulder, darling.”

Harry doesn’t argue as Avery comes up with another game to play, Louis realizing he’s begun to get a sunburn on his neck as he notes that he’d also forgotten sun screen. Though none of that seems to matter as he watches Harry kick the ball back and forth with his son, laughing and joking as Avery watches him in slight awe. 

Louis wouldn’t mind a few more Saturday mornings with him.

About an hour later Louis claims defeat, sitting on the ground as Avery takes a granola bar from his bag. “Ice cream?” he asks as Louis can’t help but smile.

“You got ice cream last week!” Not too mention he doesn’t exactly have enough money for ice cream. 

“In this sort of heat we’ve got to have ice cream,” Harry agrees as Louis looks up at him, “it’ll be my treat.”

“I think not,” Louis informs him.

“You can’t argue with me, I’m afraid,” Harry counters with a wink as Louis sighs in defeat.

Harry helps him up, packing up their few belongings as they make their way into downtown. Avery walks a few steps in front of them, talking the entire way as Louis wraps his pinky around Harry’s own, smiling into his shoulder. The ice cream shop is a little more crowded than usual, mostly with parents and young children as they make their orders.

Harry gets a banana split, Avery the same caramel chocolate ordeal, Louis his vanilla cone. When he orders he hears Harry laugh from beside him.

“Something funny?” Louis asks.

Harry shakes his head. “Not at all. Just. A vanilla cone? That’s it?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Don’t judge me, pop star,” he scolds, handing Avery a napkin as Harry holds up his hands in defense. 

“I’m not. I think it’s cute,” Harry says, voice low in Louis’ ear as he swats him away.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

They walk along the streets, pointing all their favourite stores as Harry listens, each one having some sort of story and memory along with them. 

He wipes Avery’s face of the ice cream that’s smudged all along it, stopping in front of the subway station as he turns to Harry. 

“We should, um, we should go,” Louis says, though not a single part of him wants to leave Harry’s side.

“Right. The X Factor, tradition, all that,” Harry replies, hand gentle on Louis’ waist. 

Louis looks to him, briefly, studying his face as he takes in a deep breath. He misses Harry and he hasn’t even gone yet and that’s the most absurd thing Louis has ever thought, but it’s true. With his stupid tanned skin and stupid low voice and stupid grin. 

“I would invite you but -”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

Louis opens his mouth to add something else, an apology, something, but Harry waves his hand dismissively. So he doesn’t press it, doesn’t make up any more excuses as he takes a step toward him. 

“I’ll um, I’ll text you?” Louis breaks the silence.

Harry runs his thumb along his lower lip, briefly, before nodding. He leans down slightly, kissing him brief and chaste before pulling away.

“Let me know who gets out next. I’ve been dying to know,” Harry says, tone serious as Louis presses a faint kiss to his chin.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Louis replies, trying to sound serious though he’s sure his smile gives him away.

He turns to Avery, who’s holding onto his hand, football tucked under his arm and grass stains on his knees. Looks like his laundry load has magically doubled.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Harry says to Avery.

And for a moment, Louis expects him to give a wave and walk into the subway entrance with him but instead, he does something neither of them were expecting. Avery surges forward, wrapping his arms around Harry’s middle as Louis pauses. 

Harry’s face immediately softens, pulling him close until he pulls away, looking up at him with big eyes. “Thank you for the ice cream, Harry.”

He kisses the top of Avery’s head, ruffling his hair and Louis is near collapsing at the large, fond smile on his lips as he nods. “I’m sorry they were out of chocolate dipped cones.”

Only Harry Styles would apologize for something such as an ice cream store being out of chocolate dipped waffle cones to a six year old. And Louis loves him for it.

Avery shrugs. “We’ll just get them next time.”

Harry looks at Louis then, his smile widening. “Yeah. Next time.”

Louis starts backing up, Avery following him as they both wave their goodbyes to Harry. The last thing Louis sees are his bright trainers at the top of the stairs.

\--

Their night is about the same as it always is for a Saturday. Louis makes dinner as Avery plays some game Niall lent him in the living room, complaining about how difficult it is as Louis shakes his head.

They eat, then settle into the living room and turn on the TV. Louis coughs his way through most of the show, his entire body aching by the end of it. His chills are back, feeling slightly feverish as he tries to take in a deep breath.

He just needs to sleep it off. Then he’ll be fine. 

He gets Avery tucked into bed on time, not even bothering to start with the dinner dishes as he crawls into bed. It’s not getting better, is the thing, he thinks as he pulls his covers close. He feels like absolute shit. 

His phone buzzes. _Did Tyler really get kicked off? I was rooting for him :(._

Despite the constant ache in his chest, Louis smiles. _Sorry , love . Maybe next time ?_

_My heart is damaged beyond repair, Greg. :( I need consoling. :(_

Louis frowns at the name Greg as he taps out a reply. _i’ll console you tomorrow . I need to sleep off this cough_

_Traitor._

_:) :) :) :)_

His phone goes off again but Louis doesn’t respond, instead closing his eyes and forces himself to sleep.

\--

When he wakes up his room is still dark, head buzzing as he forces his eyes open. His head is fucking pounding and he can’t breathe, coughing loudly into his elbow and even in the darkness he can feel the blood against his skin. 

He’s got a fever, he can tell from the way his hands shake and the chills that are running through his body. 

“Dad?”

Avery’s voice is quiet outside his door as Louis opens his mouth to talk but instead continues coughing as the door pushes open.

“Daddy, are you okay?”

Louis wants to tell him he’s fine but instead shakes his head, the hallway light illuminating a bit of his room as he tries to breathe. He searches his bed for his phone, hands shaking as he finds it buried somewhere in his pillow.

“Call - hospital -” Louis manages between coughs as he extends his phone.

Avery looks panicked, not knowing the number for a hospital but Louis doesn’t know what else to do. He takes his phone, pressing a few buttons as Louis tries to regulate his breathing.

His vision is blurring, he can’t focus on anything. All he can focus on is Avery’s voice, high pitched and fearful from just outside his door. He needs to tell him he’s okay, he needs to tell him he’s going to be okay. So he forces himself to sit up, pushing himself from his bed as he continues to cough and fuck, it’s not getting better. In fact, it’s getting worse. 

His chest feels as though it’s constricting, throat sore and most likely swelling as Louis tries to stand up. It lasts for a few moments before he has to brace himself against the wall, Avery still speaking but he can’t make out the words.

“Dad, daddy it’s okay, Harry’s coming it’s okay -” Avery’s talking fast as Louis tries to focus on his words.

Harry. He hears Harry. Not Harry. He can’t have Harry Harry can’t come then he’ll find out everything -

He keeps coughing and there’s blood, there’s so much blood, Louis realizes as he slumps against the wall, sinking toward the ground. And before he can say anything about Harry or the hospital his vision goes black, all the noise and chaos around him quieting.

\--

When he finally wakes up, he’s in a hospital room.

The walls are white, bright in the sunlight as Louis winces. Too bright, he thinks, sinking back into his bed. 

There’s IVs in his arm, he realizes after a bit of movement. Along with a constant beeping of a monitor, steady and loud in his ear. 

So, he’s not dead. Which is good, he thinks, looking to his left and seeing a food tray. He’s also alone, no one else in the room as he grips at his sheets. He feels a little less terrible, though still weak as he tries to take in a deep breath.

The last time he was in a hospital was when he’d broken his arm when he was twelve. He’d gone to try and get his sister’s stuffed bear from a tree in their yard when he’d fallen, broken his arm and sent his mother into a fit of panic.

They haven’t changed much, Louis notices. Still white and still terribly daunting. 

“Daddy!”

He looks, Avery rushing toward him from the doorway where Niall and Zayn are behind him, holding to go cups as they look at him with relief.

“Hi baby,” Louis says gently, voice raspy and throat sore.

“Thank God,” Zayn breathes, both he and Niall pulling up two chairs to the side of his bed. 

Louis kisses the top of Avery’s head, allowing him to climb onto his bed and curl up close to his side. 

“Hi,” Louis says finally, turning to look at Zayn and Niall.

“Don’t,” Zayn begins, voice firm, “ever do that again, okay? You scared us half to fucking death.”

Niall elbows his side, motioning to Avery but Zayn doesn’t acknowledge it. “Next time you’re not feeling well, you tell us. I don’t care how many days of work you miss,” he continues lecturing.

Louis chews his lower lip, running a gentle hand up and down Avery’s back. “I thought I was fine.”

“You have _bronchitis_ , Louis. And you were severely dehydrated. You weren’t fine,” Zayn says.

He looks to Niall apologetically, seeing the mixture of relief and worry on his face as he does so.

“Next time you start coughing up blood you tell me, okay?” Niall adds.

“I promise.”

He nods, convinced, and tells Louis he’s going to be staying one more night for observations, normal hospital protocol, nothing that should particularly worry him. After that he’s got to go home and take a few more days off with his antibiotics and then he should be on the full road to recovery. He eats his food, listening to Niall and Zayn as Avery begins to eat his chocolate pudding.

Hospital food hasn’t changed either, unfortunately. 

“So what happened?” Louis asks a little while later, Niall taking Avery downstairs for some water.

Zayn doesn’t say anything for a moment, hands folded on Louis’ bed from where he’s sitting in his chair. “He um, he called Harry.”

Louis swallows. “And?”

“And he came and called an ambulance, taking Avery to the hospital,” Zayn says, picking at the edge of Louis’ blankets. “Which is when he found out.”

He doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, actually, suddenly feeling rather nauseous at what he knows Zayn’s going to say. 

“Found out...” Louis trails off.

“Found out that you’re not Greg James.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments as Louis ignores the pounding in his chest. Well, Harry knows, then.

They don’t say anything else until Avery and Niall get back, more coffee and water at hand, but Zayn gives him a look and Louis tries to ignore the sympathy in it. He knew it was going to happen at some point. It shouldn’t be such a surprise to him. To any of them, really.

But they don’t talk about it until they’re about to leave, promising to take care of Avery as he says his goodbyes. He can see tears in Avery’s eyes as he waves from the doorway, Niall ushering him out as Zayn pauses in the doorway.

“Harry’s here.”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment. “He wants to see me?”

Zayn nods.

“Right, well, he can come in. If he wants.”

“Love you, Lou.”

“Love you, too.”

And in a moment he’s gone and for a few moments Louis is alone again. He doesn’t want to do this. Doesn’t want to go through this. He wants to lock his door and refuse to let him in.

But Harry deserves to know, is the thing. He’s deserved to know the truth since the beginning.

He walks through the doorway a few moments later, silent, hands in his pocket as Louis watches him. His footsteps quiet against the floor and he doesn’t sit, instead standing a few feet from the foot of Louis’ bed.

He’s not sure what to say. He’s not sure he should even say anything.

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry finally speaks after a moment.

Louis was sure bronchitis was the worst thing to happen to him in a while, but watching the sad and broken expression on Harry’s is decidedly much worse. Especially considering the fact that he’s the sole reason for it.

“I should have told you.”

Harry laughs, darkly, the sound foreign and uncomfortable to Louis. “Fucking right you should have told me. You should’ve told me the minute you saw me in the gym. Or wherever it was.”

“I didn’t think I was going to see you after that,” Louis says finally as Harry’s head snaps up.

“So?”

His question sits uncomfortably with Louis. And rightfully so.

“God, Harry, I don’t know. You’re this fucking pop star and I was this stupid hotel cleaner what was I supposed to say?”

“Just that, Louis. You were supposed to say just that. You honestly believe it would’ve made a difference to me?” Harry asks, shaking his head. “What a high opinion of me you must’ve had.”

And that, that hurts, Louis thinks. The only sound for a few moments is the beeping of the monitor but it’s not enough to take away the guilt that’s sitting on him.

“I’m sorry,” Louis finally says.

Harry’s pacing now, walking the length of the room in front of Louis’ bed. “Right, well, thanks for that.”

“Harry -” 

“You know, it makes sense now? Why you never wanted me to come to your’s? Why you were so secretive and all over the place?” Harry says, almost in near disbelief, “was any part of it real?”

“Of course it was, Harry.”

“I think that makes it worse,” Harry admits. 

“I think you’re right.”

Another silence passes, the sun beginning to set. “I should go,” Harry announces.

Louis swallows. “Right.”

Harry takes a step toward the door and Louis doesn’t want him to go, doesn’t want him to walk out that door and leave him in this terribly uncomfortable bed. He wants Harry to stay. 

“Thank you.”

He stops turning the handle, looking back at Louis. “For what?”

“For taking me here. For making sure I was alright,” Louis says. His voice is hushed but for some reason it sounds so loud in his room, such a big contrast to the silence of it.

Harry doesn’t say anything, releasing the handle as he takes a few steps toward Louis’ bed. He carefully, gently, presses a kiss to Louis’ forehead, lips lingering only briefly before pulling away. And in a moment he’s out the door, closing it behind him with a click and leaving Louis alone once more.

\--

Harry Styles goes on to win three Grammys.

His first hit single off his new album, Back For You, was on the charts for a little over a month, critics and fans raving alike on the catchy tune. They famed it ‘ _so unlike his previous works_ ’ and ‘ _lyrically more mature than Mr. Styles has ever written_ ’.

When asked about it in interviews he does that shy sort of smile Louis knows so well, telling interviewers that it was written with a dear friend of his one night.

It’s on the radio when he’s at the grocery store, or cleaning rooms at the hotel. It’s on when he’s making dinner and it’s on when Avery plays it repeatedly in his room for hours on end. He’s got all of Harry’s CD’s, and Louis doesn’t have the heart to ask him to stop playing them.

He, Niall, and Zayn don’t talk about it often. But it still happened, no matter how much Louis wants to try and forget it did.

So he tries to move on. It works for about a week until the drum set shows up at his house, a note attached as Louis reads it in the middle of his living room.

_Avery, play your heart out. I believe in you! xoxo Harry_

There’s another one on the back. _Miss you xx_. Louis keeps it tucked in his desk drawer, next to a picture of him and Harry and a guitar Niall had taken of them in the hotel kitchen. 

He recovers from his brief stint with bronchitis, going back to work and finishing up his class. He passes, by some miracle, getting in the top three percent of his class, which was rather unexpected. When he first finds out his first instinct is to tell Harry, pulling out his phone until he remembers, instead texting Zayn and Niall.

Avery gets into the school band and Louis decides he doesn’t want to work at a hotel for the rest of his life. So, he begins to do something he’s wanted to do for as long as he can remember.

And it’s ridiculous, he supposes, staying up one night as he begins to plan it all out. Avery’s passed out on the couch, drumsticks clutched in his hands. But he wants to have a coffee shop. His _own ___coffee shop.

It’s not easy, of course, what with loans and credit checks and planning and investing. It takes many sleepless nights with Zayn and Niall, planning and detailing everything until the early hours of the morning. But he finds a building, and he has a business plan, and everything somehow seems to fall into place. 

He’s got to work at the hotel part time at first, which is fine, he’s got to keep them afloat somehow. However almost a year later Louis opens the doors for the first time and as he steps inside he feels a sense of pride fill up inside of him because, well. He did it. 

And it’s perfect. 

Or, about as perfect as it could get without Harry, he supposes. And sometimes, if he’s in bed and he can’t sleep, he lets himself miss Harry. Just for a moment. 

_\--_

“What’s a latte again?” 

Louis looks up from the books he’s writing in, glaring at Niall from down the counter as he shakes his head. 

“You’re hopeless,” Louis informs him, setting down his pen as he walks toward him. 

“I know it has espresso. That counts for something,” Niall defends as Zayn laughs from the other side of the bar. 

“Espresso and steamed milk, Niall, we’ve been over this,” Louis says, trying not to laugh as he sets the pitcher underneath the milk steamer. 

“Espresso and steamed milk, Niall, Jesus, sorry I’m a coffee master and you’re just a hotel manager why don’t you just shove it up your ass,” Niall mocks as Zayn snorts now from across the way. 

“That is no way to speak to your employer,” Louis lectures, pulling the espresso shot as he sets the cup underneath it. 

Niall rolls his eyes, pouring the milk into the cup as Louis watches wordlessly. “You make good foam,” Louis says after a moment. 

“Could it be. Is Louis Tomlinson, coffee god and master, actually _complementing_ me on something?” Niall asks, gasping dramatically. 

“It’s the last time, you asshole,” Louis replies, walking back toward his book as he picks up his pen once more. 

It’s been a quiet morning, Avery off at school on time as Louis had gone to help open up shop with Niall. As he’d been setting out the croissants on their shelves Niall had told him that he’d gotten Perrie’s position as hotel manager, relaying what Greg had told him last night after he’d called him. And, it’s huge, because it means Niall’s going to be doing what he’s been wanting to do all along. Planning and managing, keeping everything in order. It’s what he’s good at, Louis had told him before he’d opened the doors. 

Zayn had showed up some time later, whining about the heat as he’d sat down onto his stool, claiming he needs to make up an entirely new summer dinner menu for Greg and complaining about it for most of the afternoon. 

He’s about halfway through his ordering for tomorrow when the door opens and both Niall and Zayn pause, not saying anything as they quietly shuffle off. Louis pauses, looking up as he himself feels a sudden sense of panic spread through him. 

Because when he looks up, he sees Harry Styles standing in the middle of his store. Which can't be real, Louis thinks as he does a double take. He can’t be here. 

“Hello.” Louis blurts out, sounding oddly formal. 

Harry smiles, biting the corner of his lip. “Hello, yourself.” 

There’s only a few people scattered through the cafe, the store going quiet as Harry takes a step toward the counter, Louis unable to take his eyes off of him. He wonders if he’s dreaming. 

He leans against the counter, fingertips brushing along Louis’ tattoo on his wrist, his rope. Harry hasn’t seen it yet. There’s a few surprises he doesn’t know yet, Louis thinks as he feels a small smile tug on the corner of his lips. 

“What can I get you?” Louis asks, not moving from Harry’s touch. 

“I would love,” Harry begins, face dangerously close to Louis’ own, “a mocha, actually.” 

Louis scrunches his nose. “What about an americano?” 

Harry shakes his head. “No, thank you. I much prefer mochas. I’m afraid I have a bit of a sweet tooth.” 

“Hmm,” Louis hums, fingertips intertwining with Harry’s own, “can I get a name to write with the order? Just so they don’t get mixed up with everyone else’s,” he explains. 

Harry glances over his shoulder, briefly, seeing no one else in line as he nods slowly. “Harry.” 

“Lovely to meet you, Harry,” Louis says gently, “I’m Louis.” 

“Louis,” Harry repeats, running his fingertips along the inside of Louis’ palm. “it’s nice to meet you.” 

The radio’s playing a song, familiar to Louis as the words play out into the cafe. _How wonderful life is, now you’re in the world_. 

And, Louis thinks, they might just be right. 


End file.
